


Slain

by FullMetamorphosis



Series: The Breaker of Jormag [1]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Body Positivity, Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fisting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Long-Distance Relationship, Master/Squire, Mention of abuse, Norn - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Orphans, Past Sexual Abuse, Promises, Protection, Romance, Sex, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, believe me it gets worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-10-14 06:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17503481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetamorphosis/pseuds/FullMetamorphosis
Summary: “I shouldn’t have done that,” I mutter to myself. I can see their eyes growing glossy at that, as if tearing up. Yet, still, they seem to work past something in their throat, and they close their eyes again.“Just...one more time?”I’m a fool. Once had been enough; I know if I kiss them again, I won’t be able to stop.I do it anyway.AKA, Eir Stegalkin starts falling in love with her apprentice, whether she wants to or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic makes no promises about continuation or completion, because it's getting done at my whim. Just be glad I have this much to share lol.
> 
> Started this a few months ago, before I knew the game and the world so well. Now I'm obsessed with it. I also wish we got more time with Eir than we got (I'm fucking looking at you, HoT. Gimme my valkyrie and my plant back.)
> 
> In the meantime enjoy the slightly-slow-ish burn and also the romance that may or may not extend past the main bulk of the story and yeah! I swear I ramble less in-story lol.

There’s something about being a mentor to somebody - it seems like when I look at them, they age days or more in mere moments. Once, when I’d first met them, they’d been inelegant, and imperfect; in the Great Hunt I’d watched them fall on their ass just defeating Issormir! They’d barely grown into their boots, and if it hadn’t made me laugh then. They were wide-eyed, clumsy, uncouth. But there was courage in their eyes, for sure, and a certainty. A fire I hadn’t seen in almost ten years. But then again, I hadn’t even tried looking in a mirror for half that time.

 

When I first offered to make them my squire, they were suspicious.

 

Newly a hero, defeating just their first jotun king, and they weren’t sure what to make of it when I suggested I could show them more than just the ropes. They seemed . . . hmm. To put it as “surprised” is perhaps an elegant way of showing their shock. It was clear they were enamoured with me, viewed me as some sort of celebrity, and I think the thought that I would be willing to show them my trade left them a little off-balance.

 

“Me?” they asked. They fingered the hem of their tunic. “I’m nothing- yet. Maybe in a few years.”

 

“I’m not sure you need the time. You’re a powerful warrior as it is now,” I told them, giving them a smile. “I have commissions and work to do at my homestead, but I’d gladly visit you at your home to show you what I know.”

 

“Um,” they went. Their cheeks turned red. I lifted a brow, and they answered, “I don’t have a home.”

 

“No? Where is it you live?”

 

“Usually Snow Leopard’s lodge, or out in the woods. I haven’t lived in a proper home in . . . ever.”

 

I huffed. What was this, a murdering hobo? “Well, then, I think that settles the matter,” I said sternly. “You’ll be staying with me as you train.”

 

They’d turned even redder at that, and stammered, but I was set. No amount of cajoling would convince me otherwise - I could keep an eye on them, and they could watch me work. When it finally hit them that I was serious, I could see their eyes light up. Like necromancer’s magic.

 

“Then I’ll do it,” they said, and the brightness of their expression, the glow of certainty, of pride . . .

 

It almost took me off my feet.

 

Perhaps I made a mistake, but I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was I wanted to watch the Slayer of Issormir.

 

***

 

They hadn’t properly sharpened their axes since they first bought them. Never knew the resources to do it properly, never had a proper grinding stone or strop. Wet behind the ears indeed; what they lacked in knowledge they made up with in pure technique, that much was clear. We spent a good two months on the knowledge portion alone, making sure they could at least take care of their tools before they went and cleaved their own hands off. They were devoted to learning, at least. They’d never make Priory (though I wondered, at times, if they didn’t have more than just a sharp wit), but they were smart enough to get by.

 

They did more than “get by” once I started showing them how to fight properly.

 

Most norn hold that the ends justify the means; a legend was worthy even if played dirty. I disagree. But they didn’t just fight dirty, they were filthy with it. Elbows flying, kneecaps jammed into soft places, battle cries both indignant and smart at the same time. Even with my guard up, there was more than once that they’d jab me in the stomach, or step on my toes, that I had to chastise them to pull back on. “Your job may be to fell an opponent,” I told them, “But there is little satisfaction in doing so if you must humiliate them in the process. That’s not what being a warrior is about.”

 

“I make do with what I have,” they answered with a frown. “Is there a way to fight without resorting to those methods?”

 

“Of course,” I said, and I showed them. First with their axes - throwing them farther, keeping their edges sharp, mending their grip, perfecting their guard. Then we moved onto swords - a greatsword, initially, followed by two smaller ones. A month on each style, sometimes more, often longer if they didn’t gather it in the first week. By the time we reached the bow, they’d learned the basics of more than a dozen rudimentary weapons.

 

It’s the bow that’s left us at odds, and not for the reasons I was expecting.

 

Their physicality is the problem, or so I think. They enjoy being close and personal with their weapons. Their axes, or swords, they excel with. A mace, less so, as it swings wildly and out of their control. A rifle, or a crossbow? We spent two months on each, and they still struggle to understand! (There were moments I swore to Wolf I was going to lose my patience.)

 

The bow is different.

 

“Pull it back, farther - yes, like that. Keep your elbow in, now. Level. That’s it,” I murmur as I help adjust them to the correct posture. I can feel how warm they are, heat from their hair and their shoulder and their back. They’re only slightly taller than I, but we’re close enough that I whisper into their ear, rather than speak aloud. Pressed this close, we’re matched tunic-to-tunic, my arms along theirs, fingers over each of their digits. I can hear the strange rasp of their breath. There’s red in their jawline I can’t erase from my mind.

 

“Now - release.”

 

The arrow thwacks into the target - a marked improvement. What  _ isn’t _ is the sudden shudder of their body as their arms and bow drop. I look over to them, curious, but they’re hiding their face, and suddenly their bow is being thrust into my hands.

 

“Just-! Give me a moment-!”

 

I’m left standing there with their weapon, the arrows on their back still, as they rush back into the lodge. My body’s still warm where we had touched. In fact, despite the rather-bitter cold we’d been training in, I feel liquid warmth throughout all of my body - including my face.

 

They’re sharp - that was for certain, but they aren’t a tease. They don’t smile often, or too much, but always with a crispness and with a light to their eyes. And there’s no way to suggest they don’t dress modestly.

 

No, the problem isn’t with them.

 

It’s with me.

 

***

 

It’s an awkward night. I try to keep to my sculpture, but I can tell they’re pacing endlessly, uncertain, unwound. They sit and sharpen their weapons, but they’d been sharpened not even the day before. They stoke the fire, but it’s high and roaring. They stop into the kitchen, but we’d stocked food for days.

 

They’re restless, and though I have a commission due in less than a week with such little progress - they’re beginning to drive me to distraction.

 

I sigh, and lower my chisel. I can sense them going tense behind me as I put my tools down and untie my apron, leaving it on my bench. I walk to my chest of supplies and start rummaging inside, and finally gesturing them to the table.

 

“Sit, Slayer.”

 

The tension is palpable, but they obey. They sit on the edge of the chair, nearly on their hands, face down, looking ashamed. I get up and sit across from them. In the middle of the table I place down two short knives, two longer blocks of wood, and a piece of slim charcoal.

 

They carefully glance up at me with open eyes, potion-bottle green, that make my chest burn. I take the first block and quickly draw the shape of a spoon on it, and finally place it down in front of them.

 

“Come on,” I say as I pick up the other block and repeat the same steps. “You can help me make some for the next moot.”

 

In this, they’re a fast learner. I show them the basic cuts - the pull, push, and stop - and they seem to pick it up quickly. Bit by bit, they begin to work down the handle, around the bowl of the spoon, each inch equally crooked and perfect. They work away at it with a furrowed brow, and a bitten lower lip. I force myself not to be distracted from my own project.

 

They stare down at their shape, perimeter outlined, and look back to me. “Now what?”

 

“Hook knives,” I say as I get up and look back into the chest for where I’d left my set. I can hear them giving a nervous laugh behind me.

 

“I’ve never learned to do stuff like this.”

 

“I learned when I was much younger - a little less than your age. Perhaps I was fifteen when I first began?”

 

“I’m twenty-one. You’ve had much more experience, too, then.”

 

“I’m much more adept at chip carving. I save my whittling for the spoons - though I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of those hit the fire.”

 

I give them a small smile as I stand back up and sit back at the fire, holding the knife out to them again. They take it from my hand slowly, clearly lost in thought. They aren’t one to slow down and think; it’s an interesting change.

 

“I don’t think,” they stop, and pause. “I don’t think I’ve had a real hobby in all my life.”

 

“Your parents never taught you?”

 

“They died fighting Icebrood,” they say simply. “And I was always raising my sister. She’s gone now, though. I’ve been fighting Sons of Svanir ever since.”

 

“So you’ve never had the chance to simply sit down and take some time for your own sake.”

 

“Not really.”

 

I hum, and file that note away for later. Their face is screwed up in even more intense an expression of focus, hollowing the spoon, now. They curse as the knife slips and nicks their hand.

 

“Fuck!”

 

I laugh. “That happens often, Slayer. My apologies; I should’ve offered you a pair of gloves.”

 

“I don’t much worry about that,” they admit as they squint at their half-finished spoon, turning it around in the backlight from the fireplace. “I have more nicks and scrapes on my hands than will ever heal.”

 

“Let me see.”

 

They put down their tools and hold their hands out. It’s true - all over their fingers and palms, little cuts that had long since healed. Callouses, too, though not as many as mine; they’d be developing more, at this rate, and they had so many. The cut on their hand is minor, though, and just bleeding a little. I reach forward to barely brush at the knuckle they’d scraped, and they pull back like I’d burned them.

 

“Just-” their whole face is red. “S-Sorry. Nervous.”

 

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” I say, but I understand what they mean. There’s a tightness in my chest. I’m not sure what to make of it.

 

“Just, I’ve been fighting the Sons of Svanir and Icebrood for the last three years. I guess I don’t have time to make myself look pretty or elegant or any of that - except for my hair, I guess. That’s different,” they say. “My hands don’t look like the hands of anybody that’s . . .”

 

“There’s a warrior’s hands,” I tell them, firmly. “You should take care of them, but obviously they won’t be like some noblewoman’s. Are you wearing gauntlets?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you’re using balm on them? When you have the chance?”

 

“I don’t even know where I’d find any.”

 

I get up and cross back to my chest. There’s a little cuplet of balm in there - I remember making it only a few months prior. It shouldn’t have gone rancid yet.

 

“You’re t-taking out a lot of effort just for me, Eir.”

 

“You’re my squire. I think it’s important to see after your health. You don’t seem to be, at least,” I cut back to them. They give an awkward laugh, as if they aren’t sure if it’s appropriate. I get back up and cross to the table again. Within moments, I’m cracking open the cuplet and taking a scoop of balm on my fingertips, and yanking their hands over to take care of them.

 

They start, and turn even redder. “Y-You don’t need to-”

 

“I want to,” I say, with finality. They go silent and hold still; their hands really are a mess. I take my time, rubbing balm into their fingers, their palms, all the way down their wrists. Like this, I can feel every rough patch on their hands, like the old blisters from training so regularly and with such vigor. At their wrists, I can feel their pulse.

 

Their hands tremble as I work over them, and I take my time. First, wide sweeps, to coat their hands evenly. Then, slow, firm strokes with my thumbs over each inch, massaging the lotion into their skin until it glows with a satin sheen. Even worse, I continue as the shine dulls, firmer circles, more focused, fingers pushing into the back of their palms, knuckles pushing into the hollow of their wrist, against the sensitive nerves branching the forearm and thumb.

 

I hear a strained, almost choked noise, nearly a moan.

 

When I glance up at them, their eyes are closed, brow drawn, cheeks a fierce red. Their blush crosses on the high points of their cheeks, along their cheekbones, and into their ears. Beneath the open collar of their tunic, I can see their flush down their neck, and most definitely circling around to the back underneath all their hair. I can hear their chair shift as they move. I had nearly forgotten -  _ celebrity, indeed _ . They must be coming in their boots, they look so aroused. Yet, I was the one teasing them, stimulating them, drawing such warmth into their hands through mine . . .   
  
“Is . . . is that it?” they ask, a croak, eyes closed and refusing to open. I try to remind myself,  _ it’s a bad idea, they’re far too young, they’re my  _ squire _ for the Spirits’ sakes _ , but I find myself standing and leaning forward, finally bracing elbows on the table so I can lean above their face.   
  
“Hold still, Slayer.”

 

They lift their head at the sound of my voice. It’s impossible to ignore this close: the auburn of their lashes, the neatness of their hairline drawn into their braid, the pale pink of their nerve-bitten lower lip. Their lips only part to draw in wavering breath, and that is too much to ignore, and I’m acting against my better judgement when I lean down and tilt my head  _ just so _ to kiss them.

 

Their lips are just as soft as they look - and as sweet as wintersberry jam. They still; it’s hard to tell if it’s from shock or something else. But as surprised as I am to be kissing them at all, I’m more shocked when they kiss  _ back _ . Not with any amount of experience, but clumsily, yet still eager, clever. I can feel the tendons of their wrists go taut under my thumbs as their hands tighten uselessly, and they press their face up closer to mine. I only part my hand from theirs to cup them around the back of their head, pulling them further to kiss deeper, drawing from them an unwitting hum of delight.

 

When we part it’s only with a vocal gasp from them. Their green eyes flick open to mine immediately. They’re so vibrant, and now only accented by the plush red their lips have swollen into. I don’t say anything at first; I’m still yelling at myself, asking  _ what the hell are you doing, Eir, think of your goddamn legend, think of theirs at the least _ , but they don’t seem at all upset. In fact, I get the sense if they were thinking anything at all, it was closer to:  _ did my mentor really just kiss me? _

 

More than that, I got the sense they were asking  _ how do I make her do it again _ , too.

 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I mutter to myself. I can see their eyes growing glossy at that, as if tearing up. Yet, still, they seem to work past something in their throat, and they close their eyes again.

 

“Just...one more time?”

 

I’m a fool. Once had been enough; I know if I kiss them again, I won’t be able to stop.

 

I do it anyway.

 

This time I feel their hands come up and grab at the collar of my tunic, to pull me in closer - their mouth is hot against mine, and slowly opening, eager. Not as inexperienced as I thought. I feel my hands coming to cup them around the back of their neck. They shiver at the touch, and their hands tighten in my collar, pulling me closer as well. They’re so hot. Norn are usually warm as fires, but this is a different sort of heat, one that burns into my hands and sinks into my bones. My hands fist in their hair, and I think I hear them whimper in pleasure. The noise makes my stomach drop.

 

We pull away, and only half of me thinks to retreat. Our lips connect again instead; hands clinging, closer, and I realize that the table between us is too much. I pull them up without breaking the kiss, and yank them to the side. They gasp as our bodies finally touch, and I can hear their desperate gasp, almost a cry. Our breasts are pressed together, and so are our thighs, pressing and beginning to tangle. I love it.

 

Given the noises they’re making, I know they’re loving it too.

 

“Eir-”

 

“Shh,” I gently coax their hair out of its braid and press my face to it, breathing in the scent. They smell like cinnamon and oak. It’s delectable.

 

“Is this- is it okay?”

 

“Don’t ask that,” I say gruffly. “You want this?”

 

“I- y-yes, so much-”

 

“Then it’s okay,” I reassure as my mouth finds their neck. I hear them stammering, feel their hands grabbing at my shirt near the waist. I grab their hands and pull them underneath my clothes, so they’re touching bare skin. With permission they’re even more eager, pulling me closer, coming around to clasp at my back. It’s no time that I’m pressing them down into the floor, harder and harder until they’re stumbling and I’m lowering them to the ground. Our lips meet again. They’re moaning into the kiss.

 

_ Moaning _ .

 

“Eir,” They part and breathe, and bury their face in my neck. “ _ Eir _ ,” and I’m gasping, too, letting my hands roam. They skim under their shirt, and over their waist and ribs. They find two supple breasts, and massage into them. I can hear them gasping, moaning, whining into my hair. Their hands are working at the wrap in my hair; I feel it come out of its ponytail and splay over my shoulders. I can hear them breathing in the scent of my hair, too, and their hands grabbing for thick locks. They roll their body into mine, and my legs quake as they’re suddenly stimulated.

 

“I’ve got you,” I say to them, or maybe to myself. My hands work down to their hips. Wrestling down their greaves, exposing them to the air. My fingers find their clit. They nearly shout and buck into my hands.

 

“I-It’s been so long-!”

 

“You’ve done this before?”

 

“N-Not like-” they gasp, and sigh, and press closer to me. I part the hair from their neck and start pressing kisses to the skin, teasing with teeth, sucking in a deep bruise. Their breaths are so heavy, and their body’s rolling, twisting beneath me. My fingers work their clit in circles, tight and heavy and quick. My thumb slides over, and my fingers slip down to their entrance, their puffy lips and clenching cunt. I let two of my finger slide into their molten core.

 

The squeal that comes out of them is too much to ignore, and I feel their body arching into mine. My name spills over their lips, and their hands clutch at my shoulders. I laugh. I don’t laugh often anymore, but the reactions of their body, the intensity of their fervor . . . I kiss their cheek and thrust into their warm, open core, feeling their pussy clench down. I can taste tears when I kiss them; their body’s nearly pulsing with my own, moving in waves.

 

“Eir- Eir, Eir, please, I want to-  _ please _ ,” they cry out, and I curl my fingers into them, right where they should be most sensitive. They let out a shriek, one I muffle with my own lips. It’s so much, a mixture of hands and lips and skin, so much that I can’t think of what’s happening besides the movement of my own body against theirs. Nothing else exists; not our relationship as squire and mentor, not the expectations as Hero of Tyria or Slayer of Issormir. Just our bodies, and my fingers in their dripping opening, and the rhythm of our pleasure.

 

I gasp as their thigh pushes up between my legs. They’re more aware than they let on, trying to reciprocate, and I laugh again, and bury my face in their collar. Their moans are so heavy, almost whorish, and I drink them up; their body seems to reach a crescendo, and all of a sudden I’m feeling them bucking and hearing them screaming, and a burst of warmth spreads across my head as they come in a current of slick . . .

 

Their body sinks against the floor, hands still wrapped around my shoulders and in my hair, and thigh gently dropping from between my own. I sink atop them; I let the presence of my weight settle them as they shiver, torn between relaxing and letting the aftermath wash over them. I try to soothe them; hand drawing lazy circles over their clit, lips on their cheek and against their temple. They’re still so warm. They tilt their head into the kisses, until their lips meet mine again. The kiss is slower, still warm. Gentle.

 

They giggle. My voice is low as I teasingly ask, “What is it?”

 

“I’m here with Eir Stegalkin. My hero,” they tuck their face into my neck. “I’ve dreamed of this.”

 

Suddenly, the honesty of their words makes my body go cold. The room is frigid; the fire had died down. But it’s more than that; the aching arousal in the lower half of my body, and the reality - lying on the floor, lying over my squire, my hand still between their legs. What would anybody think? What . . . what was I supposed to think?

 

I had lost control of the situation. I’d let us get into this position.

 

I . . . I thought I was supposed to be  _ more _ than this.

 

“Eir?”

 

I sit up. “I need to stoke the fire,” I say, but it’s still as high as it was; the cold is my own imagination, my own insecurity. I can feel them reaching for me, confused, but I rise to my feet and go to the hearth anyway. I grab the poker and jab at the logs. They spark and sputter.

 

“. . . oh,” is all I hear from them. I listen to them shifting behind me. Their voice is quiet, and sad. “. . . I’m sorry, Eir.”

 

_ I’m the sorry one _ , I think.  _ Sorry for sullying you. For taking advantage of your . . . your naivete. _

 

I don’t say any of it aloud. I’m not prepared to.

 

I listen to the Slayer of Issormir get up, and take a deep breath. And I listen still as they walk across the lodge and to the bathroom, the door closing behind them resolutely.

 

It’s only then that I let the tears well up and break down my cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

We didn’t talk about that night.

 

I wasn’t sure I had the guts to talk about what had happened - how I’d misused their trust - and they didn’t seem to be able to speak of how they felt, either. When they came out of the bathroom a half hour after our act, they quickly left; “to the moot”, they said, too casual to be normal. I’d had the lodge to myself. I used the time to go to bed earlier than normal.

 

I’d never be able to explain to them the disservice I did them.

 

They were still so young; that, and they had a world of other opportunities waiting for them, while I was an old woman lusting after somebody wholly inappropriate. They were my squire, for the Spirits’ sakes! My duty was to help them learn how to be a hero, how to forge a legend, not weigh them down with my own. And that wasn’t to mention how they felt about me: a hero, some said, but they were still blind to how my legend had tarnished. How things had changed.

 

After all, there were whispers in Hoelbrak about whether I  _ should _ be considered a hero. We never had defeated Kralkatorrik, and I hadn’t tried since.

 

They’d come back from the moot the next morning with a raging headache, but I didn’t have the heart to let them off the hook. If I did, it’d be as if I was pitying them, and that’s the last thing they needed with what was probably a broken heart: pity. So I took them out and hammered into them another round with the bow. And that’s how we kept it for the next week afterward: back to work, focus, learning. Back to a squire and mentor. Back to how it should’ve been.

 

The only difference was when I caught them staring at me, I looked away. I no longer had the heart to tease.

 

***

 

They weren’t at the steading when the Gear warband showed up.

 

With them showed a Ballista Geargrind, a stubborn Charr who’d had her mind set, from before that moment, that she were going to see my Slayer. She came inside the lodge with me as the rest of the warband oohed and ahh’d at my sculptures; with her, she’d brought a dangerous mood. Something dire.

 

“I heard from one of my warband that your Slayer had been with our chugger last,” she growls at me. “Now it’s missing, and we need it back.”

 

“What do you intend?” I ask her. I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. Knut had asked for this to be dealt with peacefully.

 

“To enlist them, for as long as we look for it. Iron Legion can’t go without their tools,” she says. She looks around. “Now where are you hiding them? Too ashamed to face me themselves?”

 

_ Nosy _ , I think, followed by  _ leave their feelings out of this _ . “I’m not sure where they are. They left this morning and haven’t returned. I imagine it’ll be some time before they come back.”

 

Ballista gives me the stink eye. “They’d better be back,” she says. “You won’t like it if they aren’t.”

 

“Excuse me?” I grab for the chisel in my work apron - at least to calm my own rage. “You may be a guest in Hoelbrak, but you can’t threaten me in my own home-“

 

“What the hell?!”

 

Suddenly, the Slayer steps between me and the Charr, back to me, hand on their axe. I step back, surprised and confused. What were they doing? How much had they heard?

 

Ballista raises a brow at them. “And you would be?”

 

“Alexei Wright, the Slayer of Issormir,” they introduce with a growl of their own. “Now why are you threatening Eir?”

 

“Ha! A spitfire,” Ballista leans around to look me in the eye. “So they weren’t hiding after all.”

 

Alexei quickly blocks my view of her again, resolute. It’s in the moment that I truly realize the size of them; arms defined under chainmail, shoulders wide. They’re even an inch taller than me, for what that’s worth. But why were they-

 

_ Shield _ , I realize. We’d gone over how to  _ shield _ somebody before. That’s what they were doing. They’d heard the threat and put themselves between me and the aggressor.

 

...I can’t help but find that equal measures of endearing and romantic.

 

_ Enough of that, Eir. Listen to yourself. _

 

Ballista reaches up and claps Alexei on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Slayer! You’ve been officially press-ganged into the Gear warband! Your ass is mine until we find the chugger you lost, or else I’m gonna be on the grill for it, understand?”

 

“...mostly,” as the aggression dissipates, so does their confidence. They finally let go of their axe and rub the back of their neck. “Heard a little from the crew outside. I don’t remember much, but a debt’s a debt; I’ll go with you until we find it.”

 

“A chugger’s a hell of a thing to lose,” I say to them. They look to me with an embarrassed grin.

 

“I can’t tell if you’re impressed or disappointed.”

 

“A little of both,” I admit, before clapping them on the shoulder myself. “Pack up, Slayer. You’ll probably be gone for some time - I could certainly use the time for my commissions.”

 

Ballista waits outside while they pack up their gear. I help as much as I can; adding to their provisions, reminding them of Charr customs. “They’re definitely rougher around the edges,” I chuckle, “But I think you’ll get along well enough.”

 

“I hope so,” they say. They pick up their pack and grab their axes. I can tell they’re trying to hide embarrassment.

 

This time, I can’t resist. “You’re awfully red, Slayer. Something wrong?”

 

“I...I’m sorry. I should’ve been here sooner. Would’ve never let them threaten you.”

 

_ Oh _ . Well, now they’re just being too chivalrous for their own good. “I’ve handled worse,” I reassure as I walk up and pat them on the back. “I’ve faced dragons before; a frustrated Charr is nothing Garm and I couldn’t handle.”

 

From the corner of the room, Garm barks, and quickly leaps up and bounds to my side. I reach down and scratch him behind the ears. It’s clear what he wants.

 

“Of course, Garm; some time for the two of us will be good. Although I hope the Slayer doesn’t take too long.”

 

“I won’t,” they promise. They give one of their dopey, yet all too endearing grins. “It’s a giant metal chugger. Shouldn’t be too hard to find - even if I don’t remember it.”

 

I bark out a laugh. “And it’ll teach you to better hold your liquor, Slayer! May the Spirits walk with you.”

 

***

 

They return late in the evening, two weeks later. They look sleepless; I put down my spoon carving and quickly tap us some ales. I can tell they need to talk.

 

“Found the chugger,” they say at first while they sit, still fully dressed in their gear. “Dredge had stolen it. But had some obstacles on the way. Grawl, Sons...ghosts. That was to leave some interest.”

 

“Smart,” I tell them as I sip my ale. They take a long pull of theirs. I lift a brow. “You did a good thing, righting a wrong. You should be proud.”

 

“I am - mostly. Just was tiring, to work in a group like that. We operated as a single unit; we did everything together. I much prefer being alone.”

 

“Your Spirit’s Leopard, correct?”

 

“Yeah. Came to me when I was thirteen. Helped get me out of a sticky situation out in the woods. S’been helping me ever since, though I rarely ask.”

 

“Then you’re an independent spirit, indeed. I’ve often found the opposite. I was perhaps my happiest with the other Wolfborn - or in Destiny’s Edge.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Companionship - good people. Losing that…” I shake my head. “That felt almost worse than losing to Kralkatorrik. Though that came with its own pains. Losing Snaff…”

 

“I’ve looked at his statue outside before. But there’s no inscription. What was he like?”

 

“Charismatic. Boastful. Almost too confident for his own good, but in a way that always made you believe in him. And endlessly intelligent - he fought Kralkatorrik’s mind while we fought his physical form. The only problem was . . .” she sighs. “Well, that’s getting too much into it. In any case, you would’ve liked Snaff. I think the two of you are very alike.”

 

“Really?”

 

I look over the Slayer just a little longer than I should. Strong cheekbones, strange eyes with single lids, parted lips - and there I had to stop. Their expression when they’re focused on something, like my story . . . or their stupid grin when they felt confident. Yes, indeed. Definitely similar to Snaff - almost painfully so.

 

Though, that didn’t mean they weren’t a person of their own. There were some big differences between them and Snaff. Moreso . . .

 

“I feel I owe you an apology, Slayer.”

 

They start. “Huh? Why?”

 

“For . . . what made you go out to that moot in the first place,” I say. I can’t meet their eyes. I look down into my ale, and take another sip. It tastes too strongly like my own regrets.

 

I hear them give an awful chuckle, like they can’t get it out of their throat right. “Well . . . it’s not the worst rejection I’ve ever had. Not by far.”

 

“You . . .?” I look back up to them. “Well, I don’t know much about who you were before becoming the Slayer.”

 

“I was with this awful guy named Seth for about two years - I didn’t realize that he was a total scumbag, but the whole time we were together, he was a typical abusive ass. When I look back on it now, it’s pretty obvious he was trying to groom me as some kind of sex slave,” they give another awkward laugh. “It was . . . bad, but not nearly as bad when he turned out to be a Son of Svanir. And what was worse - he dragged my sister into it. She left with him, and I didn’t have the heart to strike her down.”

 

Strange. “The Sons of Svanir doesn’t accept women into their ranks.”

 

“She was born male, but she’s always insisted that she felt like a girl, so I’ve never fought her on it. Just like I don’t feel much like a woman.”

 

Indeed. Perhaps that was part of the attraction then; they never did seem to be one for womanly things. More masculine than any of that.  _ And still, they seem so soft I just want to pillow myself in them. Control yourself, Eir. _

 

“Well,” I finally say, eyes dropping to their half-empty tankard, “I’m deeply sorry to hear of that. And for you to have gone through it; abuse is a horrid thing to go through, never mind to listen of.”

 

“He got his just desserts. Came across him on a hunt a few weeks later. Took the satisfaction of cleaving his head open. Just haven’t found my sister yet,” they pause and take a heavy draw of their ale. When they drop their mug back down to the table, they speak clearly. “That’s why I’m not going to leave the Shiverpeaks until I find her. No matter what it takes. I just can’t believe that she’d actually turn herself over to the Sons. Not with what she knows of them.”

 

“You and her sound close.”

 

“We were; I took care of her from the time I was twelve, and that was just because it was harder for us to find shelter. We were awkward kids; we could only live off of the hospitality of strangers for so long.”

 

“What about the lodges? You never sought shelter there?”

 

“Occasionally. But I much preferred being out in the wilderness - again, Snow Leopard’s student. Inari was a little different, liked being around people. She was a student of Wolf.”

 

“The two of you were very different siblings, then.”

 

“We were,” they sigh, and look away from me. They look to one of the lodge windows instead, and prop their chin on their hand. “Anyways, long story short . . . a little rejection isn’t the most painful thing that’s happened to me. That was my point. I . . . I get it.”

 

_ No, you don’t _ , I think to myself.  _ Don’t you see? There’s not just a spark, but a bonfire, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore it. How do I make you see? Do I even  _ want _ you to see? What would I tell myself? What would I tell- _

 

“You’re lost in thought. You’re staring at me without really looking.”

 

And it’s a shock that they know  _ that _ much, that they’re paying that much attention, when they look absolutely exhausted. I shake my head. “You need rest,” I say.

 

“I’ll be fine. Crawl into bed and be ready for training tomorrow.”

 

“You’re sleeping on a pile of furs in the corner of the room. Nothing with any real padding. Do you want to share my bed tonight?”

 

Their face turns so entirely red I’m worried I’ve scared them. “I-It’s fine!” they say with a stammer. “I’m doing alri-”

 

“Your shoulders are hunched up, and you’re slouching like you’re in pain. It’s easy enough for me to tell when you’re hurting, Alexei. It won’t fix all of your problems, but sleeping in a proper bed will do you better than the bundle of furs on the floor.”

 

They don’t seem to have a response for that. They frown, instead, and like this I can better see the bags and lines underneath their eyes, the shadows of lost sleep. It truly  _ hadn’t _ been easy for them to be with the warband; it must’ve been noisy and chaotic for their senses, at least in comparison to the norn. I finish my ale and stand, before walking to their side and helping them out of their chair. They’ve finished their ale, too.

 

“Come on, now. Let’s get you out of this armor.”

 

They don’t complain as I start unclipping the armor from where it’s latched together at their sides. Their pauldrons come off easily, just attached to their chest piece, and that slips off easily enough as well. Then there’s the skirt that unclips at each side, and their boots. By the time I’m back to taking off their gauntlets, they’re sagging with tiredness.

 

I start as they suddenly lean forward and place their head on my shoulder. Their level of exhaustion is so clear. I drop their gauntlets in surprise; their voice is a whisper, if that.

 

“Eir . . .”

 

I should push them off. Tease them, tell them to get a hold of themselves,  _ anything _ .

 

Instead, I find my hands coming up and resting on their upper back, and then lifting to the back of their neck, slowly beginning to undo their braid.

 

“You didn’t get much sleep after all, did you?”

 

They make a soft noise in affirmation. They’re probably too tired to even collect what’s going on around them, or so I tell myself; that’s the only reason why I’m bringing their hair out of its plait, and gently brushing it out with my fingers. That’s the only reason why I’m cradling the back of their head and gently shushing their soft noises of exhaustion.

 

“Let’s get you into bed, Slayer.”

 

I help walk them over to the bed and lie down. The moment their pillowed in the furs, their eyes open up and look me over, as if judging. I freeze. Slowly, their eyes soften, and close. They tilt their face closer to where I sit next to them, as if ready to curl up.

 

A part of my resolve breaks. I can feel it in my chest. I reach out, and rest my hand on their head. I find myself smiling softly.

 

“That’s it, Slayer. Just rest. I’ll be here in the morning. I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

In all of my dreams, I’m falling.

 

I stand on massive airships, flying through the sky, and I dream of looking out over them and being filled with something like pride. But then the ships all disappear at once, and I’m sent careening towards the earth; the dream happens without fail, and I always wake terrified, sometimes unable to choke down my own yelps of surprise despite the Slayer next to me in bed. And that is when I find myself unable to restrain myself, and I get out of bed and spend the rest of the night awake.

 

It doesn’t bode well. At all.

 

I know why I’m dreaming like this. I just don’t want to admit it. And I’m sure they know, looking me over every morning with that same concerned look that always tore me apart. Their green eyes seem to read everything off of me, whether I try to show it or not. It’s beginning to feel like mind-reading.

 

The people of Hoelbrak are beginning to notice, too. We rarely leave the steading together, but whenever I speak to a neighbor or friend, they ask about Alexei. Casually, at first, and then more insistently. Some speak of their spirit and my squire in the same breath. Are the Spirits of the Wild even so nosy?

 

I spend so long thinking about it. Finishing up with the bow, and then moving onto the spear, the shield, the torch. I can’t shake it. Rifles, handguns, more review of the swords. My resolve is crumbling. Back to axes, improvised weaponry, back around to the bow. Almost eight months.

 

Why had I been so foolish as to invite them into my bed, even? Why was I so foolish as to make this handsome, striking warrior my accomplice?

 

_ Because you’re desperate for companionship, _ Wolf tells me during one of my sculptures.  _ Because the two of you fit each other _ , and that leaves me so frustrated that I toss down my chisel and walk away from the piece.

 

It’s getting so hard to ignore. The intensity of their eyes. The proud swing of their body in motion. Their laughs - damn it all, their  _ laughs _ . Sweet things, cajoled, making their lips split into that gorgeous smile . . .

 

They really do look like Snaff, sometimes.

 

But they’re  _ more _ than just kin to a dead friend. They’re so alive, it’s painful to be in the presence of. They remind me of a simpler time, when I was younger, and my spirit burned with desire to free Tyria from tyranny.

 

They’ve done worse than just lit a flame beneath me.

 

They’ve made me want to be a hero again.

 

***

 

“You should ask if the Lionguard would take you. I’m sure they’re always looking for volunteers in the foothills.”

 

“I’m nearly overqualified for the Lionguard. Isn’t that more entry-level?”

 

“Yes, but it’d keep you in the Shiverpeaks.”

 

“You just want me to get a job, isn’t it? Get me to start paying rent?”

 

I find myself smiling for no good reason as we both lean over the railing of the steading and look out over Hoelbrak. “Not yet, I’m not,” I joke back. “You might need to start doing more dishes though.”

 

“Gladly. I’ll cook and clean and the whole thing. I’ll be your maid as long as you can keep teaching me. There’s so much more I want to learn.”

 

“I’ve nearly taught you all I know. Soon enough, it’ll just be up to you to perfect your skills.”

 

“But then who would I spar with?” I elbow them. They chuckle, and look out over Hoelbrak again. “Okay, okay. Well, I’d still spar with you. But it’s hard to think that I’m almost done being your squire.”

 

“You’ve got to allow others the chance, you know. You can’t go hogging me all to yourself.”

 

“I wish I could. I’d be the strongest warrior in Hoelbrak.”

 

“ _ Second _ strongest.”

 

“ _ Third _ , if we count Knut,” they chuckle. It’s funny. I’d already been counting him.  _ Keep yourself together, Eir. _

 

I hear Garm barking behind us, alerting. I turn as I see a familiar face walking up the hill towards us - Skarti, Knut’s son and head of the Wolfborn. I push off the railing and walk over with a wave.

 

“Hail, Skarti!”

 

“Hail, Eir. We’ve got some troubling news,” he says to me with a frown. He looks around me and waves to the Slayer as well; I turn to see them waving back, but without leaving the railing. It’s rare for them to be less social, but I can tell they need the time for themselves. Another thing I’ve learned about them in the year or so I’ve trained them.

 

“What’s going on?” I ask Skarti once I’ve got my attention better on him. He sighs.

 

“Dredge.  _ That’s _ what’s going on.” I sigh with him. The dredge are always troubling. “I don’t know the whole story, but the Order of Whispers found dead bodies with horrific wounds north of Lornar’s Pass, and they look to be dredge-made. With that, a rumor on an attack on Scholar’s Cleft, and a dead squad of Vigil, and it’s shaping up to be an ugly situation.”

 

“All three orders are involved in this?” I ask. He nods. I hum, and put a hand to my chin in thought. “They never did mix well,” I muse. “They must be at each other like hydra heads.”

 

“And that’s the problem: they all have ideas, plans, but no collective agreement. Knut wants a neutral party in on the problem, and I can’t intervene with my work with the Wolfborn.” He frowns. “Eir, could you take care of it?”

 

Well - another call to action. Knut was always asking for help, and normally I’m eager to help - but I never like working publically with the Orders. Being a “Hero” of Tyria, they all ask for attention and appraisal, and it’s impossible to get them to look past my title. Not to mention my stack of commissions to be finished within the next week, and . . .

 

“I’m afraid work has me busy, Skarti. But-” I stop, and think. I look back to the Slayer. They’re staring out over Hoelbrak, looking so pretty in the sunset I’m almost stunned out of breath. I wonder if I should stop - but the idea’s perfect. I look back to Skarti. “-how about the Slayer? I have full confidence in their abilities, and they’ve been needing to keep busy.”

 

“The Slayer?” he stops, and thinks it over. “They dealt with the last jotun-king over a year ago, didn’t they? They’ve been pretty quiet as of late.”

 

“Busy learning,” I say. “But eager to work. I think it’d be good for them,  _ and _ good for the Orders. After all, Hoelbrak’s been needing a new hero; now’s the perfect time.” I look back again. “Alexei! Come here, please.”

 

They push off the railing as well and walk over to join us. They look confused. “What’s going on?”

 

Skarti quickly explains himself again. I watch their expression change as they listen; recognition at the names of the orders, but not sound confidence. They follow along well enough, though, and bite down on their lip to think.

 

“I suppose I could lend a hand,” they finally say. “It’d be a good chance to work my legend up.”

 

“And I’ll be there to follow and advise you,” I say with a pat to their back. “Skarti, we can meet you in the Great Lodge this evening. Give the orders some time to settle in, and review the situation. We’ll see you then.”

 

Skarti salutes and turns to leave. Garm barks, and leaps up to follow him; I chuckle. He’s been needing to stretch his legs, and he’s clearly eager, knowing Skarti. I gesture the Slayer back to the lodge, and once inside, make a beeline for the kitchen.

 

“I barely even know the orders,” they say as they join me and start taking out pots and pans. “I’ve heard of them, but I still struggle to keep them straight in my head. Which one is which, again?”

 

“The Vigil is the army-force formed after an attack by Kralkatorrik; the Priory is the academic and scholarly institution doing research on the dragons. And then the Order of Whispers is the subterfuge and undercover group investigating secretly across Tyria. All three of them are very proud, and don’t get along, but I think you’ll be a fair mediator. Have you ever considered joining an order?”

 

“Not really. I was too young - and then everything with my sister happened. And besides,” they give a nervous chuckle, “I’m not sure any of them would want me. Except maybe the Vigil - but you don’t have to be smart or sneaky for that.”

 

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” I tell them as I lean into the ice box and pull out some kind of bird to cook for dinner. “You’ve taken well to improvised fighting - something the Order Of Whispers would value. And you have a sharp wit. I think you could match with the other two, should you want to try.”

 

“Nah. I’m not a scholar type, and I blabber so much I’d make a terrible spy.”

 

“You’re not just a foot soldier though.”

 

“I guess not,” they say. Before I can respond, they ask, “What will they need of me?”

 

“Probably to settle disputes over which plan to follow. You’ll probably assist in one plan over another, with one order or another. It’ll give you the chance to see how they orders operate, and what they look for in recruits.”

 

“But it’s not like a job screening or anything, right?”

 

“No. Just a hero of Hoelbrak offering guidance.”

 

They hum. We’ve got the bird in the pan; they’re grabbing seasonings for it silently, and applying with a focused look. Like this, the green of their eyes is so clear, and their expression determined. This time, I’m the one staring, almost mesmerized. Regardless of what they say, any of the Orders would be lucky to have them. Never mind just their title of Slayer - their whole legend was something to look forward to, now that they’d been trained and looked after.

 

But. First they have to find their sister.

 

“Is there something on my face?”

 

“No,” I look away. “Just lost in thought.” Silence. Neither of us seem to have an idea what to say.

 

“Well . . . it’ll be interesting to fight dredge, at least. I usually leave them well enough alone.”

 

“You’ll want your bow,” I say, “Or a rifle. They like their gunfights.”

 

“Oh, man. I don’t have much experience with the other end of a rifle. Does getting shot hurt?”

 

“About as much as any other wound.” I watch them lift the bird and slide it into the oven. “Then again,” I continue, “I also have little experience with ammunitions like that. Dragonspawn don’t carry guns.”

 

“Unless they’re learning.” A mock gasp. “The end is nigh. The Icebrood carry  _ rifles _ .”

 

I laugh. They make me laugh often, now, and I do it freely. I clap them on the shoulder. “Not yet, they aren’t. Before then, though, we can get you ready. Meet me outside for a spar.”

 

***

 

Skarti and the three guild representatives are already waiting for us by the time we arrive. They’ve picked a quiet corner of the Great Lodge, all talking among themselves and snapping at one another. I can see Alexei hesitate ahead of me as we walk up; I can tell, they’re uncertain. I place a hand on their lower back. I can feel them trembling, but they finally move forward to join the group.

 

“-and I’ll leave right now and take care of it on my own if the three of you can’t take my soldiers’ lives seriously!” One of them snaps.

 

“Oy,” Alexei interjects. “Calm down and let’s talk about this.”

 

The four of them look up to us; already, I can see the representatives look to me, wanting to speak. I stand back. This is about Alexei, not  _ me _ . Regardless what the others wanted to think.

 

“You must be the Slayer of Issormir, Alexei Wright,” the blonde woman of the group holds out a hand to shake. “Agent Ifwen, from the Order Of Whispers. We’re the ones that discovered the bodies of the Vigil troops.”

 

“Scholar Prott, of the Priory,” a man in blue robes nods his head to them as they shake Ifwen’s hand. “I hope you can help put an end to these stalemates.”

 

“Ha! They’d better,” the last one of them, strapped in traditional armour, rolls his shoulders back. “Crusader Thurkill, at your service. From the Vigil. I was responsible for those men the Order found.”

 

“Well met, all of you,” Alexei nods to each one of them, and crosses their arms. “I’ve heard about the situation from Skarti already. What can the three of you tell me?”

 

“There’s been a rumor of an assault on Scholar’s Cleft, which has the Priory concerned,” Prott tells them. “Many of the scholars there can’t defend themselves. Novices among them.”

 

“And meanwhile I have dead men that need to be answered for,” Thurkill growls. “A hunter like you should understand - we don’t leave crimes like that unanswered.”

 

“Of course not,” Alexei answers. I can tell, they’re  _ trying _ to be charismatic - and succeeding, at least a little. “But I want to know more about this rumor first.”

 

“We’re not sure what the dredge want, but rumor has it that they’re planning to attack Scholar’s Cleft in rather large numbers; whether it’s to do damage or otherwise, we don’t know,” Ifwen replies. “We lack any hard evidence, but rest assured, the Order Of Whispers is looking into it. We should have information shortly, but for now it’s between defense and offense.”

 

“I can see,” Alexei hums. “And you want me to be the tiebreaker.”

 

I put a hand on their shoulder. They look to me, and I lean in to whisper to them: “It’s likely you won’t make many happy, whatever you decide. Go with your gut. Bruised feelings mean less than action.”

 

“What would you decide?” They ask. I shake my head.

 

“What I would choose means nothing. This is your legend, Slayer.”

 

“But you’re my advisor,” they raise a brow. I chuckle.

 

“Alright, well: there’s vengeance. And then there’s protecting the living. I’ve always been more inclined to protect those who are still standing rather than avenge the fallen.”

 

“That’s what I was thinking,” they nod to me. “But I’m gonna piss off Thurkill.”

 

“He’ll have the men to carry out his plans should he be motivated,” I shrug. “What matters more is what you feel is right.”

 

“So I’m the extra help.”

 

“Yes. Whichever you choose.”

 

They finally pull back, looking deep in thought. I step back as well. When they turn back to the group, I can see they’re made up.

 

“We can do nothing for those who are already dead,” they say. “I’m going to Scholar’s Cleft with Scholar Prott.”

 

Thurkill sputters. Then, he explodes. “Like hell there’s nothing that can be done! Their families deserve to know we fought for them!”

 

“We  _ will _ fight for them,” Alexei cuts back, “But  _ not _ at the cost of more lives.”

 

Thurkill glares at them, and then at me. He stomps off. Meanwhile, Scholar Prott rests a hand on their shoulder. “Scholar’s Cleft is to the northwest in Snowden Drifts. Do you need a guide?”

 

“No; I remember the building. I don’t know it well, but I have taken refuge there before. I can meet you,” they say. They turn to Agent Ifwen. “What about you?”

 

“I’ll be looking into the dredge’s operations a little more closely; we’re getting hints that this is some kind of assembly, not just random attacks, and we want to know more about where they’re coming from and why.”

 

“So you’re gathering information. You and the Priory don’t seem so different after all.”

 

Ifwen colors. “Well,” she says, “Our business involves more . . . subterfuge. And working beneath the surface - our information doesn’t come from books and scrolls. We’re often on our feet and working from one moment to another.”

 

“Respectable. I used to hunt Sons of Svanir rather actively. The kind of effort it takes to judge a scenario from moment to moment is tremendous. To keep a whole group like that coordinated . . .”

 

“Yes. It takes quite a bit of skill - skill that I don’t have, which is why I’m simply an agent.”

 

“You seem competent and skilled to me. It’ll be fascinating to work with you.”

 

Ifwen coughs into her hand, obviously flustered, but gives Alexei a smile. It strikes something in me; it’s a hard reminder that they’re still  _ young _ , and more than that, attractive. They didn’t have the best charisma, per se, but if they wanted somebody, I can only imagine it wouldn’t take much effort to get them.

 

_ Rather like they’ve done with me _ , I think, but I swat the thought away. And then Alexei’s looking at me, suddenly wide-eyed and bashful, seemingly of their own bravado. That look sweeps me away even more, until I’m shaking my head furiously and placing a possessive hand on their back. My feelings had to wait; for now, they needed to get ready. Their journey would be long, even by waypoint, and the sooner I had the room to breathe, the better.

 

***

 

They’re more than able in this venture, even from what I observe at home. They ask plenty of questions. They listen, and discern, and manage to keep the orders from pecking at one another. They were so fixed in the movement of this task that they rarely stay at the homestead for more than a day. After they first return from Scholar’s Cleft, days later, they crawl into bed and sleep. When I manage to ask them about it, they explain.

 

“The dredge  _ did _ attack,” they say from behind a hot cup of ale. “They stole a book about architecture, and we’re still not sure why. But the stability of the building was compromised, so I stayed and helped start some of the repair efforts,” they pause and think. “The dredge were talking about somebody named Vyacheslav. I’m not sure what to think of that.”

 

“A leader?” I ask. They shrug, and take a long sip of their ale.

 

“That’s what we’re thinking,” they say. “I’d like some confirmation - hopefully Ifwen can provide.”

 

And she does. Interestingly enough, Alexei seems to be taking quite the interest in her - Ifwen and her order. They ask her lots of questions, speak of strategy and thought experiment (I didn’t even know they thought of such things), and subtly flirt with her in a way that makes my blood start to boil, for some reason. It’s hard to tell if they’re serious, or simply making more ebbing attempts at charisma. Ifwen seems to respond with business first, or at least from what I can see. They’re off with her on some mission before I can make heads or tails of it.

 

_ They’d be interesting Whisper material _ , I think to myself. Though I’d said as much to them before, it’s only now that I’m really thinking about what that means. I certainly hear no complaints from either of the two when they return. Scholar Prott, as well, seems fond of them, though not as much because they’re similar - more so, because they both had a concern for human life, and information. Meanwhile, Thurkill and Alexei get along like brambles.

 

I’d told them it wasn’t a job screening, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder. They’d benefit from being in an order, if their pursuit of the dragons was serious; they’ve talked more than once about going out to fight Jormag themselves, their dedication is so fierce. And I think of what they could do if they were with an order, with that many people - certainly more than they’d accomplish if they stayed with me, liked they seemed to want to do.  _ But then they’d have to give up the hunt for their sister _ , I think to myself.  _ And wouldn’t that just haunt them _ .

 

I’m not sure what to think of any of it. Any of it at all. And then the deliberation of a final assault comes.

 

***

 

“Okay, let’s recap,” Alexei starts counting on their fingers to the order representatives. “Vyacheslav is leading a group of dredge on an assault against the last living dwarf, Ogden Stonehealer. They’ve got some kind of new weaponry that uses the cry of Icebrood to cause destruction. What’s worse, this causes Icebrood to swarm on the area and kill everything in sight. Oh, and their target is the Durmand Priory. Like, the main building where all of the scholars and novices reside. This is turning into quite the mess.”

 

“It’s only a mess if you’re as obtuse as these two,” Thurkill jerks a thumb at them.

 

“I’m surprised you even know what ‘obtuse’ means,” Prott mutters. Thurkill ignores him.

 

“As far as I can see, a direct assault on the dredge himself  _ and _ his weapon takes care of the whole mess. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. No need for these bookworms to get their panties in a twist.”

 

“You suggest,” Prott shoots back, “That the Priory is incapable of defending itself. And we can; we have a silencing spell that would render Vyacheslav’s weapon entirely useless.”

 

“Or,” Ifwen replies, “We could use  _ stealth _ . No need to risk the weapon going off, and no need to encounter all the forces. A small team could go in and destroy the weapon and the leader without any other loss of life. Without a leader, the dredge would collapse.”

 

All of the solutions are interesting; I can see the flaws, but they’re still sound.  _ And how would these plans look if they were combined? _ I ask myself. I can see the benefit for that as well. Though they’d never work together, the combination of the orders’ strengths would only be to their benefit. If only they could see that.

 

Alexei seems to be thinking the same thing. They’re quiet, mulling over. They finally say, “All of them are good ideas. But we don’t want to rush into this. We have time; let’s take the night and think this over. Vyacheslav will have a timeline just like us, and it’s unlikely he’d strike this soon.”

 

“This has a simple answer, Slayer!” Thurkill says. “You don’t need a ni-”

 

“They’ve made their decision,” I tell him, sharp. “Leave them to it.”

 

Nobody speaks. Alexei turns away from everybody and looks to me. I can read the worry in their eyes. I nod to them, and they take a deep breath. They start walking away.

 

“We’ll meet here tomorrow,” they say. “First thing in the morning. Then I’ll have an answer.”

 

I watch them leave the lodge with a sigh. They were clearly adept in this; managing answers and choices came easily to them. But it comes with the pressure of managing three unruly parties. I know that part, for them, doesn’t come easily.

 

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to find Scholar Prott and Agent Ifwen looking to me. Thurkill has already walked off.

 

“Eir Stegalkin,” Prott nods to me. “It seems we haven’t had the opportunity to talk since this began.”

 

“There hasn’t been a need,” I say. “How can I help the two of you?”

 

“Well,” Ifwen looks to Prott. “I was thinking in the benefit of my order, and realized that Prott may be doing the same. Thurkill, they don’t seem to get along with-”

 

“-but then again, the Vigil has always been high strung,” Prott answers.

 

I draw my brow. The two of them are up to something. I stand back and cross my arms. “What are the two of you thinking?”

 

“Our initial goal,” Prott says, “Was to come to a solution regarding the dredge. But that’s changed: the Slayer of Issormir has been an inspiring character, and strong in their own right. They’re smart, and compassionate, and calculated.”

 

“And more than that, they’re determined and hard-working,” Ifwen continues. “Which is why the two of us have our own proposals: we want them to join one of our orders. Obviously, I vouch for the Whispers, and him the Priory, but-”

 

“Hold on,” I stop. Was I really hearing this? They really did want Alexei to join them? “Why don’t you just ask them yourself?”

 

Scholar Prott huffs. “Well,” he says, “There’s obviously some history between the two of you - history we wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

 

Ifwen chuckles. “Some  _ fascinating _ history.”

 

“Wait,” I put up a hand and sigh. “It’s not the kind of history you’re expecti-”

 

“A denial like that points to the opposite, Eir Stegalkin.”

 

“-whatever the two of you are thinking, it’s not like that. I’m simply their mentor; have been since the slew the wurm.”

 

“The Order knows the truth of the matter,” Ifwen hides her smile behind her hand. “In any case - the Order is very interested in their abilities. They’d make for a powerful agent . . . even a Lightbringer.”

 

“The Priory agrees,” Prott adds. “We’d be lucky to have somebody as astute as them. But we’re telling you because we wouldn’t want to interrupt your mentorship, or anything else.”

 

I purse my lips and look away. So they wanted to recruit Alex, then . . . just as I had wondered. Hadn’t I been the one to think that they’d fit in, if they simply wanted to? Wasn’t I the one that had thought of their legend and found these routes to be best?

 

Had I been pushing them in this direction after all?

 

“I’ll have to ask them,” I say. “It’s their choice.”

 

“Of course,” Ifwen nods. “The Order doesn’t need their answer immediately - but soon. Perhaps before I leave.”

 

“I agree,” Prott says. “Before they leave.”

 

I nod slowly. It’s time, then - time for them to think about it. “Thank you both for considering them. And for asking me. I’ll approach them about it tonight.”

 

The two of them nod to me, our conversation over. They turn to each other, and then leave me to my thoughts. It’s bizarre; the lodge is always so busy. It was hard to feel alone in such a crowd.

  
But  _ oh _ , do I feel so, so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everybody who's already read and left kudos for me! I wasn't really expecting for this fic to get as much attention as it has, but I appreciate what has come of this already. And I'm really glad to know that you guys are interested in Alexei and Eir's story!
> 
> If you want to support the story, leaving a comment is a great way to let me know what you think! And I'm hoping to update this semi-regularly, since I have lots of ideas for where I want to go with it, so if you want to bookmark and follow the fic, that's great too!
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I'm excited to bring you guys more of these two lovable dorks.


	4. Chapter 4

The snow starts falling just as I make my way back to the lodge, and has turned into a little storm that I can only imagine will add to the walk back to the Great Lodge in the morning. It’s still falling well into the night, and while Alexei’s cooped up in the steading with me, they don’t seem to mind it as much as they usually do. They sit by the window and look out into the storm. It’s so easy to tell they’re lost in thought; hand to their mouth, body still. Hair loose and unbrushed, in a thick wave down their neck and over their shoulders and back. They’re almost statuesque like this. If I thought I had less self-restraint, I would take my sketchbook and draw them like this. Body strong under their tunic, and fabric draping over the braided cords of their arms. They’re quite the sight.

 

It’s silly and sentimental, but I’ve found myself with a hairbrush in my hands. I quietly approach them and sit behind them; they lift their head just slightly, but all I do is take their hair in my hand, and start brushing at the tips. They relax after that, and continue looking out the window. The lodge is silent, nothing but the crackle of the fire and the wind outside and the soft sounds of our breaths.

 

I’m partway up their hair when they finally sigh. “This decision would be easier,” they say, “If we could just combine all the plans.”

 

I know instantly what they’re talking about. “Silencing the weapon with Priory magic,” I say, “While Vigil troops fend off the larger forces, and Order agents slip behind the line and take out Vyacheslav?” They hum in affirmation. “I gave up trying to make the orders get along a long time ago,” I say. “Many of us have tried. But they’re all too proud and stubborn. I’m not sure you could get them to agree on the time of day without an argument.”

 

“And I’m sure they’d each argue that they should each have a bigger part. Like that the Vigil needs more room, or that the Order can do it alone, or the Priory can help itself,” they sigh again. “I’m not relishing picking one plan over another. Not when I’ve seen how each of them get when they’re turned down.”

 

“Who do you want to put your bets on, then?”

 

They’re silent for a moment as I start working on a gnarly tangle. They answer quietly, when they do respond. “The Order’s,” they say. “I don’t want to put too many lives on the line. And I got the sense, from my last outing with Ifwen, that the dredge don’t actually want to fight unless it’s Vyacheslav taking responsibility. If he and his weapon are taken out-”

 

“-then the rest will give up,” I say. They nod, then wince, tugging against my brush and hands.

 

“Yeah,” they answer. “It’ll minimize risk. But I still want Vigil and Priory at the ready.”

 

I hum in agreement. I wonder, for a moment, how to say what I want to tell them. I finally settle on, “Ifwen and Prott came to me after you left, today.”

 

“Did they?”

 

“They wanted to extend an offer to you. An offer to join the Priory or the Order of Whispers.”

 

They turn their head just a little bit, to look at me. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” I gently touch their jaw, and turn their head back so I can get at the next stubborn tangle. “Both of them have been impressed. And I agree with them; I think you could do a lot of good with either of them. The only trouble is-”

 

“-I’d be leaving my sister,” they say.

 

“Yes,” I answer. “It’s your legend, or your sister. A choice I don’t relish.”

 

They’re quiet. I’ve tackled all the tangles at this point; I take long, sweeping strokes of the brush, letting their hair fall behind their ears. It’s beautiful hair, long and soft and a pretty auburn like a rose’s petals. It reminds me of Ascalon, of the wild lands and dried grasses that swept out and into the bright blue sky on the horizon. It’s smoother than that, though. A strong length of hair; no matter how long they spent out in the wild, away from modern treatments, they took care of it. I can tell how much it means to them, when they make it look and feel like  _ this _ .

 

After a moment, I feel them turn in their seat. They reach for the brush. “Your turn, Eir.”

 

I chuckle. “My hair doesn’t need brushing out.”

 

“I know. But I want to.”

 

I meet their eyes. Cool green, like ocean waves and algae. Slowly, I hand over the brush. I turn in my seat, and reach up to undo the elaborate wrap my hair’s in. It falls around my shoulders and down the length of my back; I have a lot of hair, much more than they do, even. They start slowly, down at the tips of my hair. The feeling of the brush through my hair is gentle, so unlike their usual brute force.

 

Finally, they answer. “I don’t want to leave my sister,” they say, “But I want to fight the dragons. They . . . they pose so much of a threat. I’ve heard stories about Zhaitan’s Risen, and I’ve fought the Icebrood up close. They’re horrible.”

 

“Any Dragonspawn is awful,” I murmur. “I’ve had my fair share of fighting them.”

 

“I believe it.”

 

I hum. “We’d swept down near the Crystal Desert,” I tell them. “It was so warm in the day, but almost freezing at night. The Branded were everywhere; I remember picking them off with arrows of oricalchum. It was the only thing harder than the crystal that far south. I’d have to have Garm retrieve the arrows for me; he’d bring them back in his mouth, covering them in saliva and drool. Though sometimes he’d bring back a broken one,” I chuckle. “Logan sharpened his blade every night and never managed to keep it sharp enough through the day. Rytlock’s sword was fine; ancient, and well-wrought. Caithe’s usual darts couldn’t pierce through the hard skin of the Branded, and Zojja was constantly repairing Mr. Sparkles. And then there was Snaff, always experimenting, collecting crystal samples, telling us how he was going to create some material that would melt through the beasts entirely.”

 

“Did he ever do it?” They ask in a hushed whisper. Their hands are gentle with my hair, and the brush carefully sweeps through a knot.

 

“Oh, he got close,” I tell them, smiling. “It was a special kind of acid. It nearly bore a hole through his hand when he first made it. He was always keeping it in crystal vats, but he had to swap them out every other day; it kept eating through them and leaking into the desert sands. Then, one day, he finally gave up. Sloshed the whole mix onto a group of Branded that’d assailed us,” and this time, I laugh lightly, outright. “The whole batch melted through the Branded,  _ and _ the sands. It created so much heat that we made camp there that night, and it was still warm by morning! Rytlock nearly passed out from the heat. Mr. Sparkles and I had to carry him away!”

 

“Mr. Sparkles?” they ask.

 

“Zojja’s golem,” I explain. That makes me sober, just a little bit. “Zojja and Snaff were so close; she found the whole experiment to be inspiring. And she laughed - oh, the way she  _ laughed _ ! - when he finally splashed the whole mixture into the Branded. It was so effective that I think she’s still trying to replicate that experiment, five years later. He’d kept notes, but in a scrawl none of us but her could read - and then again, he was improvising from materials he’d found in that desert with us.” I pause. “I wonder if she’s managed it.”

 

Alexei’s quiet as they work their way up my hair. From my mid-back to my shoulder blades. Their calloused hands have smoothed out since they started using the balm. They’re gentle in my hair. “It sounds like you were happy, from the way you talk about it.”

 

Happy? Fighting dragonspawn every day, roaming through a melting desert, almost as toxic as Elona? “. . . I suppose I was,” I say. “Being with friends, exploring the world, fighting off the worst threats we’d ever imagined . . . yes. I was happy. I was building my legend and fighting for a cause I believed in. It was hard to go through a day and not feel pleased at the progress we’d made.”

 

“. . . but then Kralkatorrik happened,” they finish for me. I nod, sadly.

 

“Yes. Logan felt he had to return to his queen and . . . left us. And I thought we could still do it without him,” I look down into my lap. Suddenly, my happy reminiscing feels for naught. “We couldn’t defend Snaff, or Glint - the dragon that accompanied us. Both of them perished - and Kralkatorrik retreated. And then there was the fighting . . .”

 

I’m silent as they work the rest of the way up my hair - maybe they just don’t know what to say. Or maybe I don’t. I remember how furious Zojja was, and the tears streaming down her face. I’d never seen her cry before. And Rytlock’s scrutiny. Caithe was trying so hard to keep us all from fighting, but I remember lashing out like I never had before. Accusing, sobbing, begging, pleading. So many yelling voices. And the depression that had washed over me nine years before came back in a wave. A depression I had yet to shake the mantle of after all this time.

 

. . . or had I?

 

I hear them put the brush down. They’d brushed all the hair back from my face, and down to the roots in my scalp. “I want to get you something,” they whisper. “Stay here.”

 

I watch them get up and walk to the bathroom, and I hear them rummage around for something. Meanwhile, I think. The Great Hunt had been my attempt to make a comeback, if I was being honest with myself. Hoelbrak hadn’t been singing my praises like before. They saw me as a failed hero - somebody who went out for glory, but never reached the heights. Somebody who had given up. And for so long, I had bought into it . . . I couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. I’d failed at so much. At being a hero, a partner, a friend, a . . . caretaker. Even my  _ art _ had stagnated into the mere commissions I took from Hoelbrak. But when I began to mentor them, to train them . . . suddenly new inspiration had flooded into me. New designs that I had never thought to create. I’d even finally carved Garm, after so long - his own statue that he now slept beside.

 

Why had it taken me so long to finally find that spark again?

 

They finally come back with a little bottle of something in their hands; it’s glass, and I can see inside of it some kind of reddish-purple mixture, almost a paste. I sense them sitting back behind me, and I hear the pop of the bottle opening. “It’s a hair mask,” they tell me. “You might have to wash it out of your hair tonight, but it helps strengthen the hair. It’s made of winterberries.”

 

“Where did you get such a thing?” I ask, curious.

 

“Cragstead. A couple there makes and sells it. Maybe it’s not a necessity, but I like keeping my hair pretty,” they explain. I feel their hands in my hair, at my scalp; the paste is cool, but not unpleasant. “I’ll need a lot of it for your hair, but it’s worth it.”

 

_ Worth it _ . All for me. I turn back to them, just a little. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

 

“. . .remember when I made the choice between the Priory and the Vigil? What made the difference was the loss and gain of life.” They pause for a moment, clearly still in deep thought. “If I stayed here, wouldn’t it be the same as going with the Vigil? Seeking vengeance instead of saving the real lives at risk?”

 

I don’t say anything.

 

“Every day without my sister hurts. But my sister - even the Sons - are only one part of the problem. Even Jormag is only part of the issue. The biggest issues are  _ all _ of the dragons. We have to fight all of them, to make real progress. Because all of them bring with them a cost of life. And that’s not something I can just ignore now.”

 

“Does that mean you’re going to go with the orders?” I ask.

 

“I . . . I think it’s for the best. And I think I know who I want to go with, too.”

 

I murmur. “Ifwen.”

 

“No; the Order of Whispers. Ifwen is . . . interesting, but she speaks for a larger order. I didn’t realize it, but the spying . . . the care they take in their work . . . that’s something I want to be involved with. Slipping into the shadows of Tyria and looking at what I find. And then using that against the dragons who lurk there. I think that’s much more noble a goal than just finding my sister. And it’s for more than just a cute face, too.”

 

“. . . I see,” I say.

 

“Would you mind? If I . . . if I just left?”

 

I’m not sure I have an answer for that. As eagerly as I had thought about them joining an order, I hadn’t really thought about them leaving. Not just leaving, but without a trace; no way to find them after they go. Disappearing into the very shadows they spoke of. Something about that makes my chest ache.  _ I don’t want them to go _ , I think. It’s so selfish a thought. And so very, very weak.

 

I swallow past the lump in my throat. I have to tell them to go. I know I can’t keep them forever, even if I want to keep them pasted to my side like I had all my friends. If I did that, I’d suffocate them, just like I suffocated all the rest. And I wouldn’t be able to bear that.

 

“You should go,” I finally force out. “Explore the world. Fight for a worthy cause.”

 

“. . . I see,” they say. Is it just me, or do I hear sadness in their voice? I hear their hands fall back to their thighs. The mask is all through my hair now. They speak hesitantly, and quietly. “I . . . I should tell Ifwen tomorrow, then.”

 

“. . . yes,” I say. “In the morning. I . . . we should get ready for bed.”

 

“Not yet,” they say as I hear them pick up the brush again. “Let me get this evenly through your hair.”

 

Why can’t I place this sadness? Why does it feel so cold and bitter in my chest? I nod to them. “Alright,” I say.

 

I feel the brush through my hair. I hear Alexei breathing quietly. And I wonder, and wonder, why everything suddenly hurts so much.

 

***

 

Dawn is rising in Lornar’s Pass. Alexei’s been gone for hours; standing with Ogden Stonehealer and Agent Ifwen, waiting for them, is almost torture. Sunlight’s just barely beginning to land on the stone lining the bridge across the valley, and though they’d disappeared to finally dispatch Vyacheslav hours ago, they still haven’t turned up. It makes my stomach churn. What could be taking them so long?

 

“They weren’t unwell when you led them to Vyacheslav?” I ask Ifwen. She gives me a look, but shakes her head.

 

“They seemed rather stable to me,” she says. I don’t answer her. I bite my lip, and look across the bridge.

 

. . . something finally catches my eye. Distant through the morning mist, a crowd beginning to cross. But it’s moving so slow. Is it the dredge? No - I step forward to try and get a better look. The sun rises slowly, but steadily. Finally, it cuts through the mist. I can see the bridge.

 

On their knees, lifting up a man in the robes of the Priory, is Alexei.

 

And  _ oh _ , are they  _ beautiful _ .

 

A crowd of Priory members is behind them, walking with them as they slowly help to bring every fallen scholar back to their feet. Each and every man - everybody, even a few dredge who they pick up and set back on their feet, who nervously look them over and then follow them with the crowd. There’s distant cheering from the crowd. The sunlight’s reflecting off their armor, their hair, their hands.

 

I realize, distantly, that I’ve fallen to my knees.

 

My chest hurts so much, and it finally hits me, oh,  _ oh _ -

 

I  _ am _ in love.

 

***

 

I need to follow in their footsteps, like they have followed in mine.

 

I watch them talk to Agent Ifwen, reviewing. The assault had been the perfect success. Vyacheslav and his machine were no more, and the dredge had scattered like mad when they all realized. Nobody on our side was killed; rather, the casualty count is low, only among the scholars who’d made the original stand to protect the Priory. And now, Alexei is being briefed, told by Ifwen to look for an apple seller in Lion’s Arch for their first assignment a month from now. They nod. They radiate all the confidence in the world. I watch them, and wait until Ifwen finally steps away to confer with her own people. Alexei looks around, and I finally catch their eye. They smile, wide. They walk up to me, and rub at the back of their neck.

 

“Well . . .” they chuckle. “That was a hell of a success.”

 

“You should be proud, Slayer,” I tell them warmly. “That was an incredible success. You did so well.”

 

“And now I get to fight the dragons,” they say, awkward now that the spotlight’s off them. Still, they frown. “I . . . I guess I’m leaving after all. I’m to report to Lion’s Arch in a month.”

 

I nod, slowly. I finally avert my gaze, and find myself rubbing the back of my own neck like them. “Actually,” I say, “I’ll be heading that way as well.”

 

“Really?”

 

“You see . . . I got a letter from an old friend the other morning. From Caithe, actually,” I say. “She wanted to meet with me. With all of us, in Lion’s Arch. I was going to meet up with them in a month’s time, as well.”

 

“Then,” Alexei slowly steps closer. “Then maybe we could go together?”

 

With the sunlight behind them, they radiate. Their hair is a wild halo of light. I find myself smiling, finally relaxed and feeling free, for the first time in five years.

 

“Of course, Alexei. I’d want nothing more.”


	5. Chapter 5

There’s quite a bit to get in order as we prepare to go to Lion’s Arch. Favours to pull, people to speak with. And money to make, as well; though I have a sizeable wallet due to my commissions, Alexei has little to their name, so we spend every night by the fire carving spoons and every day selling them at the Lodge. It’s an interesting time. They’ve sold spoons and little figurines with me before, but I’ve never set up in the Lodge so often.

 

“I remember first meeting you here,” Alexei tells me one day as we set up our table again. “I was too embarrassed to introduce myself when I was younger. And then when I was sixteen, I finally mustered up the courage. I used all of my savings to buy a little figurine of Leopard. That figure went with me everywhere, until I lost it during a fight in the snow.”

 

“I wish I remembered meeting you that long ago,” I say honestly, “But I’ve had so many customers over the years that I’ve forgotten faces.”

 

“Yeah, and I only had the balls to come over once in a blue moon. But I was admiring you from afar for some time. My sister was always teasing me over it.”

 

I smile. “Did you think I was going to bite you, Slayer?”

 

“Maybe a little. I looked up to you.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t have bitten, I promise you that. Not without permission.”

 

They laugh, though I notice the hint of a blush high on their cheeks. It’s satisfying, now, to tease them. I feel less shy; the echo of  _ what you’re doing is wrong _ is still in my ears, but it’s a softer sound now, and when Alexei tilts their face towards me and gives me  _ that smile _ , I barely hear it at all.

 

We don’t make as much until later in the month. A few sales of their work a day, at first. Then, as they improve, several. By the time we we’re ready, they’d made as much of a name for themselves as a carver as a warrior.

 

Still, time careens ever forward. We pack our provisions, and our weapons. I buy them two new axes that they accept with a wide grin. They give me a small figure of Wolf to wear around my neck. And Garm gets a hearty bone to gnaw on as we work.

 

Our time for Lion’s Arch approaches, and then bowls us over, faster than we expect. And I still can’t decide if I’m ready.

 

***

 

Their eyes are so wide as they step through the asura gates and into Lion’s Arch. So wide they seem like they’ll pop out of their skull; the greenery, the bright blue sky, the tan concrete underfoot. The bright colors and the noise. Oh, do I remember the  _ noise _ of this place. Just looking at them, I can tell Alexei’s surprised by it. They seem to be between staring openly and huddling up, covering their ears. As it is, I can see them turning in place, still, gobsmacked.

 

I laugh. “Welcome to Lion’s Arch, Slayer.”

 

“It’s so- so-” They stop, and finally shiver. “- _ hot _ . Spirits. Is this an oven or what?”

 

I laugh again, and slap them on the shoulder. “That armor must be pretty hot now, Alexei. I told you, you’d want to dress lightly.”

 

“I wanted to be prepared! And-” they put a hand to their forehead. “-I think I’m sweating. If I faint, catch me.”

 

“Oh, I will,” I joke, and then I get a better look at their face. I frown. “. . . I might have to. I underestimated the heat. You’ve never been in anything like this, have you?”

 

“No. Never.”

 

“Then you’re probably taking it harshly. Let’s get you out of the armor. You have your tunic on underneath?”

 

“Fuck that, I’ll strip to my undershirt. I’m gonna melt.”

 

And that’s how our first minutes in Lion’s Arch are spent: slowly stripping them out of their armor, in between heavy sips of our water skins, laughing as we sit among the underbrush and greenery that’s gardened every few feet. They really do seem to be heating up; their face is red, and they’re sweating heavily. I often forget: norn often struggled in Lion’s Arch, at least at first. Our bodies are so quick to heat up.

 

Finally, though, we get them out of the armor and into their slacks and undershirt. I almost instantly regret it as they pull their tunic over their head; the cut of their undershirt perfectly shows off their sculpted arms, warm-skinned and covered in a slight sheen of sweat. Not to mention the slight rise it takes above their midriff, and the way it clings to their stomach. That’s all the view I get before a blue tunic is being balled up and thrown at me with a spurt of laughter; I pull the shirt off my face and fold it neatly as Alexei grins at me with all of Leopard’s playfulness.

 

“Staring?” they ask.

 

I shake my head. “You certainly do make an imposing figure, Alexei. You’ll fit in well here.”

 

“Maybe I should make like all the men and strip off entirely . . . or maybe I can strip off my skin.  _ Spirits _ , I’m gonna make a fine puddle.”

 

“Not yet, you aren’t,” I tell them as I help push their tunic into the pack along with the rest of their armor. “Now, what was our first order of business? We wanted to get you into an apartment, right?”

 

“Makes sense. I’m excited. My first real home, ever.”

 

“My steading doesn’t count?” This time, they’re the one staring and blushing. I smile, and pat their shoulder as I get up. “Follow me,” I say. “We’ll get you nice and settled before my meeting.”

 

My meeting. A reunion with Destiny’s Edge . . . and likely one I wasn’t going to enjoy.

 

But until then. I had Alexei.

 

***

 

But that’s not enough to make the time go any slower.

 

Their apartment’s rent is put under the name of one “Riel” - not a name I’m familiar with, though they explain that it’s the name they were told to make it under. The landlord only nods knowingly and shows them to a small apartment with a look over the harbor. Beneath their windowsill, we can hear somebody loudly selling their apples, proclaiming to have all colors and kinds. We share a careful look, but they shake their head. Their meeting isn’t until tomorrow. Apples and Whispers could wait until then.

 

Their apartment’s across town from where we’re meant to meet. And though I tell them they don’t have to follow, they insist. The meeting spot is next to the largest fountain in Lion’s Arch - we sit on the brim of it and people watch, while Alexei gets their hair wet in the water spurting up from the lake.

 

Already, I can see. Underneath a patio umbrella and at a table drinking tea is a familiar charr, dressed in armor too heavy for the weather. Against a shadowed wall is a small sylvari, dressed in mints, who catches my eye and gives me a nod as the two of us wait. Nearby, a team of asura work on a golem with familiar scratches from desert sand; conversing with a group of Seraph nearby is a man in whites and silvers. We’re all waiting for the same thing: the toll of the clock. I find myself staring at it while I hear Alexei nearly fall into the pool, pulling themselves up from soaking their hair. I flinch as they shake out their braid and spray water everywhere.

 

Finally, the clock tolls a loud, solemn sound. All of us turn towards one another. I can see us all nodding to one another, quiet. I get up from the ledge.

 

“Come on, Alex.”

 

I don’t look up from the ground. I’m too nervous to. But I do feel, after a moment’s hesitation, a careful hand twining into my own, and holding on gently. I look back to them. They look resolute, and serious. They nod to me. They understand.

 

Slowly, we all walk towards one another. We all stand outside the fountain and stare at one another: Caithe, Zojja, Logan, Rytlock. And then me and Alex.

 

We’re all silent.

 

But carefully, breaking the quiet, is Caithe, coughing into her fist. “It is . . . good to see all of you again,” she says. “I’m sure you all know why I called you here.”

 

“The dragons,” I say.

 

“Yes, Eir. The dragons. I believe it is imperative that we help the orders. We all know the threat the dragons pose.”

 

I hear Logan coughing into his fist as well. “You know,” he points out, voice strained and bitter, “I wasn’t aware when I came here that you’d be inviting this . . . this  _ charr _ .”

 

I can hear Rytlock’s growling deep in my head. I watch him glare at Logan. “Neither was I expecting  _ you _ ,” he says. “Are you crawling back for forgiveness, Logan?”

 

“Wh-” I watch Logan sputter. “I’ve done nothing that needs forgiving!”

 

“I’m sure that’s what you think,” Rytlock shoots back. “You know, I once thought you were legion material. Glad I never had to make  _ that _ call.”

 

“Rytlock, Logan,” I interrupt the two of them. “That’s enough fighting.”

 

“Sounds like something  _ you _ should’ve said,” I hear, and I turn to find Zojja downright glaring at me. “Or have you forgotten already? When  _ you _ fight, people  _ die _ .”

 

My heart clenches painfully. I immediately think of Snaff. “That-” I choke on my words. “That . . . that  _ wasn’t _ my fault.”

 

“Of course you wouldn’t think that. Why would Eir Stegalkin think of anything logical?”

 

“That’s enough, all of you!” Caithe says. She looks peeved, but I can tell: she’s reigning herself in. “Our task is too important,” she says. “Tyria needs us.”

 

“Just like we needed Logan. And guess how well that turned out?” Rytlock asks.

 

“Hey!” Logan turns to him and grabs his sword. “Say that one more time to my face!”

 

“How am I supposed to? You’re the one that’s always running.” Rytlock shakes his head.

 

“None of us are happy about how things turned out last time,” Caithe says, trying to be fair. “But that’s in the past. Now we need to-”

 

“To do what? Put our lives in each other’s hands? Look at how well  _ that _ turned out,” Zojja glares at me again. I shut my eyes.

 

“Snaff was . . . I’ve never forgiven myself for what happened to him,” I tell her. “I would do  _ anything _ to bring him back.”

 

“Really? Then why don’t you just die for him? Oh, wait - you  _ didn’t _ ,” Zojja hisses. I feel the hand in mine go tight. Suddenly, Alexei’s stepping in front of me, shouldering in, putting themselves between me and Zojja.

 

“That’s enough,” they warn, hands fisted. “Leave Eir alone. She’s still grieving - and your accusations are unfair.”

 

“Oh? Were you there? Do you think you know any better than  _ she _ did?” I hear Zojja scoffing. “And I wasn’t aware that Eir Stegalkin needed a  _ bodyguard _ .”

 

“Eir has her  _ own _ sense,” Rytlock says. “What else did you expect, Zojja?” I find myself stepping back and grabbing for my elbows. Rytlock, too?

 

“All of you, that’s enough!” Caithe cries out. “Stranger-”

 

“Alexei Wright,” they say. “And I’m not budging until she leaves Eir alone.”

 

“Ha! She can fight her  _ own _ battles!” Zojja spits.

 

“Unlike  _ some _ people,” Rytlock growls.

 

“I don’t need to take this!” Logan finally shouts. “I’m outta here!”

 

“Wait-!” I can see Caithe stepping towards Logan. “Can’t you see? This is too important!”

 

“Figure it out on your own!” Logan turns away. “I’m done here!”

 

“And you’re a fool if you think I’ll be a part of this!” Zojja spits. “And certainly not with  _ her _ !”

 

My eyes are watering. I didn’t expect for all of this to go so badly - I never thought that I’d be back in that desert, with everybody screaming, with so much pressure on my back. It hurts; it hurts in my chest, and down into the cavern of my body, and stiff into my legs. I want to run. I want to run so badly, but I can’t make myself move, and I can feel the sweat on the back of my neck. I don’t know if I’m going to faint first, or flee. Already I’m seeing black spots in my blurry vision.

 

And then - there’s hands on my shoulders.

 

“Eir. Eir, look at me.”

 

Alexei. They’re looking at me. My eyes snap to theirs. I realize I’m shaking.

 

“Let’s get out of here, Eir. You don’t need this.”

 

“Running again?” I hear Zojja ask. I see Alexei turn to her.

 

“You don’t  _ know _ ,” they hiss at her, “What she’s been through. How much it took for her to come here today. And all you’re going to offer her is insult? If I was a better norn, I’d duel you right here, right now. So you’d better be fucking grateful that Eir’s so torn, or else I’d punt you across the Shiverpeaks.” They turn back to me. “Come on, Eir. One arm over my shoulders - that’s it.”

 

I’m strung around them, and they support me as we turn and walk away from confrontation.

 

***

 

We find a quieter, smaller fountain nearby, away from the commotion. We sit down on the edge of the fountain again. I’m shaking like a leaf. I’m still seeing visions of the desert, and feeling the weight of Snaff’s body in my arms. Alexei doesn’t say anything. Instead, they’re reaching up with the hem of their shirt and blotting the tears on my face, and gently shushing me. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

 

“It’s okay,” They say as they bring their waterskin to my lips and help me drink. “It’s okay, Eir. I’m so sorry I didn’t get involved sooner - I should’ve known this was a bad idea. It’s my fault for not jumping in.”

 

Finally, my vision begins to clear. Instead of the shouting, the sound of running water enters my ears. Alexei looks at me, so concerned; their brow is drawn, and their green eyes look so focused as they wipe the tears from my face. I’m not even sobbing, but I’m still seeing spots, and I’m still shuddering. They’re parting the hair from my face. Theirs is so close.

 

“I-I was a fool,” I finally press out through my swollen throat, thick with tears. “Everything with Snaff - all of it - it was my fault. Why did I try to come back? I was- I was so arrogant.”

 

“No, you  _ weren’t _ ,” they tell me. My eyes lock onto theirs. They’re so much like jungle, like the greenery in Lion’s Arch. They seem to reflect everything. “You did the best you could, in a stressful situation, and one that was already life or death. Snaff - he knew what he was getting into. And you knew more than anybody, acting as tactician, and trying to guide the group. All of you knew you might not walk out alive. And yet you still tried. And more than that, you’ve remembered the fallen. You’ve fought so hard to remember him. Don’t you see? You’re so strong, Eir. You’re so . . .”

 

They trail off. All I can see is their face. I hadn’t . . . realized that they’d gotten so close. They seem to realize it, too. I can hear their breath catch. And I can feel the heat of their body, this close, warming mine. It’d almost be unbearable, with the warmth of Lion’s Arch, but I realize . . .

 

I  _ want _ them this close.

 

I want them this close, and more. I want them closer. I want to push myself into all of their empty spaces and curl up there, warm and safe and . . . and loved.

 

My eyes slip closed, and I lean forward and kiss them.

 

I can hear them gasp into the kiss, surprised, but I can’t bear to pull away. My hands are coming to their shoulders, and holding fast. And I can feel their hands around my face, holding me so close. Slowly, the tension in their frame eases. I feel their lips shift under mine, and begin to kiss me  _ back _ , in such a way it’s like electricity between our mouths. Their hands shift to my neck, underneath my hair. I curl my arms around them and crush my body to theirs, familiar heat,  _ wanted _ heat, so solid and strong beneath me that I just want to huddle closer and cry.

 

We pull back just millimeters apart, and our eyes open. I can see nothing but their green eyes . . . and I’m sure they can only see the seafoam of mine, open, clear. Between our vision, we come to a silent agreement.

 

They lean in this time, and press their lips to mine.

 

I suddenly hear cheering - loud whoops and hollers, and we both split apart and look around. Nearby, there’s a group of tourists  _ watching us _ . I turn back to Alex to see their face warming again. They look back to me, speechless, flustered.

 

“I . . . w-we should . . .” they stammer. They slowly lift a hand to my face and place the back of it to my forehead. “You’re burning up. We should get inside. Somewhere . . . somewhere cooler.”

 

I nod. Somewhere away from people, I think - blearily, I can remember a place nearby, a hotel I’d stayed at before. I grab their hand and suddenly stand, pulling them to my feet with me, and I walk through the crowd and drag Alex in the direction of the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking FINALLY.


	6. Chapter 6

The moment the hotel room door closes behind us, I’m kissing them, stopping in the middle of the small hall to do so. Their arms are around me, as mine are around them; their mouth is so soft, just like I remembered it was, and it opens up when I ask, silent between lips and teeth and tongue. My hands wind up in their hair and start tugging it loose from its braid; their hands curl around my lower back, and pull me flush to their body. They still smell like cinnamon and oak. It’s so much it’s making it hard to stand.

 

Their lips part from mine. “Y-You really want to-”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“Are you sure? The last hour- it’s been-”

 

“Would you rather I stopped?”

 

“ _ No _ . Oh, Spirits-” I can hear their hand jiggling the knob, making sure it’s locked. But then their lips are back on mine, and hands in my hair, and pressing me back towards the bed. I part from them long enough to stop them, and push them onto the bed myself. They land with a “ooph!” that makes my heart race. It only gets worse as I push myself onto the bed above them, their body between my legs, my face above theirs, level.

 

They look surprised. And then they’re reaching up to my face, and cupping my cheeks. “You should drink more water,” they tell me. “I- you looked pretty bad back there. I was . . . scared.”

 

They look so wide-eyed. I reach down to the waterskin at my hip and unhook it, and take a long, certain drag from it. I can see their eyes watching my throat as I swallow. I lower my waterskin and reach over to put it by the side of the bed. My head’s clear now.

 

“You’re sure you want to-” they start. I silence them with a look as I sit back and start unfastening the many belts around my top.

 

“I am,” I tell them. They shakily sit up, and lean back on their hands. That seems to shut them up.

 

My outfit’s a complicated mess of buckles and straps. Just trying to get it off is a chore of its own. I start with the wolf medal at my neck, and the furs that line it - that, I leave on the side table. Then comes the straps around my waist and shoulders, keeping my armor strapped fast to my chest. I slip the shoulders off, and work at the ones behind my back. Normally I have no trouble undoing them, but I’m shaky and nervous. Alexei finally leans forward, and their hands find the clasps. I close my eyes and let out a breath as their hands touch my bare skin, and pull the entire piece away from my chest.

 

They stop there, and just seem to marvel. I look at them and go flush. My skin is nothing like theirs. It’s pale, like fine cream, and it’s not as clearly defined by muscle. But my shoulders are strong like theirs, and my upper back. There’s a defined line between my breasts from my chest, and a fine indent against my stomach. But that’s it. Comparatively, I look less sculpted, though I can still lift as much as them. I would even say I’m a little thicker than them - there’s even a little pocket of fat beneath my belly button that’d never burned away.

 

And yet, they seem entirely entranced by it all. Their fingertips curving in at the dip of my spine, their eyes tracing over my every curve. Then, their hands coming down over my waist and my narrow hips, and curling around the handles of fat to pull me closer by. I gasp. Their mouth comes my collar, and gently starts to suck a mark into it. I tilt my head back to give them more room, but all they seem wont to do is move their lips along the raised bone and trace teeth along it, to leave little nips and sucks and licks to the skin. When I look down at them, I can see them looking back up at me from under thick lashes.

 

They continue, lips pushing up against the top of my shoulder, and the ridge of it. They tilt their head, and mouth at my neck. They tease at my pulse. And their hands are gripping, teasing up my body, along my waist, pressing around my ribs. One brushes the underside of my breast. I give a breathless little sound, and my eyes fall shut. And then their hands come away.

 

I’m being moved over, rolled onto my back as their hands come around to my hips and start undoing the many buckles that keep my greaves to my body. My top has already been discarded. I have half a mind to find it and fold it up neatly (it was an expensive set of armor), but the thought goes out the window as their mouth finds the smooth ring of my nipple, and latches on. I let out a gasp. Their nails scrape against my hips, and slowly start working my greaves off. Their mouth is a hungry thing, roaming over my breast ever-so-slowly, teasing, testing. Their tongue comes to trace down the line of my body. I tilt my head against the bed and lift a hand to hide my face, unable to control the shuddering of my body.

 

“Don’t hide from me,” I hear them say as I’m bared to the world. I feel their hands on mine, pulling it away from my face; they lean down and press our noses together, and their eyes close. They take a deep breath; it occurs to me how long they must’ve been waiting for this, thinking of this, wanting this. They’ve been so patient. And I’ve been a fool, not to just let myself enjoy this.

 

But I know to now.

 

I press up at them, and they allow me to roll them onto the sheets. I lean down and kiss them. Their lips are still warm and swollen, and the kiss deepens as I find the hem of their shirt and start working it up their body. I only part long enough to pull their shirt over their head and off their arms, and then I’m flinging it away. Our mouths connect again, and I kiss them intently while my fingers tuck into their greaves. This time, they’re the one shuddering, legs kicking as they try to get their greaves off faster.

 

“Nervous, Slayer?” I tease as I pull back and work on getting their slacks off. They mumble something that’s only half-audible, and I take their greaves and drop them off the side of the bed. I’m pleased to see they have nothing on underneath - much like me. Their whole body is a pale olive, affected by armor that covered all of them, and hid their skin from the sun. In Lion’s Arch, I think, their skin will tan beautifully.

 

I need to not think about that now. I have them beneath me - that’s what I need to focus on.

 

I lean up and pillow myself against their body. I take the moment to lie there, our bodies flush, listening to the sound of their breath. And they seem to fight with themselves: shaky breaths, at first, surprised at being so bare to the room so quickly. Then, slower, deeper breaths, trying to calm themselves down. Their breath settles into an even rhythm. I can feel their chest against mine, moving gently. Finally, they give out a sigh, and curl their arms around my body. For a moment, while our bodies are pressed together, we’re peaceful.

 

I remember all the experiences I’ve had before - all the experiences that give me context. For example, I can tell that Alex is nervous, unsure what to do with their hands, in between opening up and closing in. I wonder how much of that experience they have, too. They’d told me that they’d had a previous partner, one who’d done so wrong by them, but I don’t know how much of that experience translates for them. At the least, they seem to be settling underneath my weight comfortably.

 

Their hands come up to my hair. They tease the wrap of my ponytail down, and toss it away. And then they’re pulling the tie loose; my hair falls over us like a river. Their fingers curl into it and comb it back. They’re idly playing with it, too, first pulling it over one shoulder, then the other. Making it smooth and even, and then mussing it up. They seemed to have a fascination with it, one that I can’t argue against. It does feel so nice when they play with it.

 

I find myself giving a low laugh. “You like it so much,” I say.

 

“It’s so beautiful,” they answer, voice soft, a smile hidden within. I look to them. Their eyes are at half-mast, looking over it, with a soft curve to their lips. I can’t help myself - I lean up and kiss them again. They kiss back carefully, though when my tongue slides along the inner corners, their hands go tight. I laugh. I pull back and brace myself above them, watching the expression on their face. They look so frustrated that I’ve pulled away - but so, so needy.

 

“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask. They heave a sigh.

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” they say. “So much. Please, Eir.”

 

“Where?” I ask, teasing. My hand skims along their upper arm. “Here? Or somewhere else? I won’t know if you don’t say.”

 

They positively  _ whine _ , a sound that goes straight to my legs. “ _ Eir . . . _ ” they reach up and grip at me, trembling. “ _ Please _ . I want you so much.”

 

“Mmm . . .” I lean down and lay a kiss against their neck. I can feel them shivering. I pull back and whisper into their ear. “You should know,” I whisper, “I’m a big fan of enthusiastic consent.”

 

“I’ll get enthusiastic alright,” they mumble, voice half-lost to the sensation of lust between us both. I laugh softly. I finally let my hand trail down; over their arm, trailing over the supple mound of their breast, down the muscle of their abdomen. Lower, then, until my fingertips are brushing at the rough hairs of their mons. Then, finally, low enough to brush the bud of their clit.

 

I hear the whined gasp as they pull in air, and their arms wrap around me, tight. “Fuck,  _ Eir _ -”

 

“Relax,” I say, and kiss their temple and slowly push myself away from them. They whimper - god, the  _ whimpering _ . I kiss their shoulder, then their breast, and their side. I move down until I’m curled between their legs, looking down at the beauty of them, splayed out, open. They’re red between their legs, and so wet they’re glistening. It’s stunning to look at, and even more delectable as I lean in and press my lips to their slit. Their juices coat my lips instantly. I hear Alexei gasp and reach for me, and I’m rewarded by their hands in my hair. I hum in response, and their legs lift up and curl around my shoulders.

 

“I . . .!” Their chest is heaving, and they try to pull me closer. I chuckle, and swipe my tongue between their labia, and over their clit. My lips latch onto their clit and suckle; I kiss the bud of them hard enough to make them shake. Their whole body’s like a wave, arching and cresting and unending. Meanwhile, I keep my mouth against them, moving, constant. Their juices coat my tongue, and I only pull away to kiss and bite at the insides of their thighs, another thing that makes them go rigid with pleasure.

 

“Eir!” they force my name out, and I look up at them through hooded eyes. They’re red in the face now, too, and their hands are tight in my hair. Their eyes are bright with tears. They push their hips closer, and I reward them with nips and licks, before finally curling a hand between their legs and pushing my fingers inside them.

 

I hear them gasp, and throw their head back. Still, I don’t let up - pushing, thrusting, then curling inside them in a way that makes them jump. I keep repeating that motion, and they seem to lose all control, crying out and moaning so whorishly it’s making me wet just hearing it. Their hips buck, and I feel their legs going tense. I latch my mouth around their clit and leave the lightest of bites - and that seems to make them go undone.

 

“EIR! Fuck, Eir, oh,  _ Spirits _ -!”

 

Their whole body writhes as they suddenly gush over my face, down my chin, coating my fingers and hand. I don’t stop. Curling my fingers, fucking them faster, even slipping in a third finger when they seem to ebb, causing them to tense up again and toss against the sheets. They pull on my hair so hard it almost hurts, and their moans are so loud I wonder if anybody will hear us. I wouldn’t silence them for the world. They sound so undone it’s a blissful thing.

 

I push myself free of their legs and up their body, pressing my lips to theirs. They make a noise of complaint, probably about the wetness coating my mouth, but they kiss back eagerly. Their hands are still in my hair, but quickly trail down to my back. They pull me closer, still shuddering as my hand continues inside of their body.

 

When I pull away, they’re breathless, and so red. Their eyes are watering, and their body’s calming down, so I gently shush them and free my hand. I carelessly wipe it on the sheets before bringing to their face, and brush away the tears that escape their eyes.

 

“Shh . . . you were so good for me, Alexei. So beautiful.”

 

They press their face into my hand and shudder. “I . . . I wanted to be . . .”

 

They’re so senseless. I lean in and kiss the tears off their cheek, and tangle my legs with theirs. I stay present with them, helping them come down from what was a frightful orgasm. They’re still shaking, and clinging to me like I’ll disappear if they let go. I think of the last time we did this, and figure that’s about what they’re scared of - my leaving.

 

But I’m not leaving now. Not this time.

 

Their breaths finally slow, and I reward them with a soft kiss, one that they drag out as long as they can. Their hand comes to my cheek, and I tuck my face against it and kiss the palm of it, too. I can see them smiling. They shift closer, and close their eyes. I wonder if they’re going to sleep, but they’re still lucid enough to speak.

 

“Eir . . . I’m so . . .”

 

“Was it good?” I ask, only satisfied when they moan in response. I lean up and kiss their forehead. “Good. I aim to please.”

 

“You do a lot more than that,” They say. Their hands come around my waist. I can’t help but notice that one of my legs is between theirs; I teasingly press it up, rubbing against them, and I listen to their gasp as their body goes taut again. Their eyes slip open, wide. “Oh, Spirits,  _ Eir _ -”

 

“Just relax into it,” I tell them with a chuckle. They hide their face in my shoulder, and moan.

 

“Y-You haven’t come yet, Eir . . .”

 

“Don’t worry about that right now,” I tell them with a chuckle. “It takes forever to make me come.”

 

“If all you’ve been with is guys, then that’s no wonder,” they say. I can feel their fingers slipping between my legs, and finding my clit. I give a soft gasp and close my eyes.

 

“N-Not all of them. Plenty of women, as well. A couple of people who were in between.”

 

“They mustn’t have tried very hard,” they tease. I press my leg up harder just to make them shut up. They let out a breath, and push their hips against me. “ _ Fuck _ , Eir.”

 

“You’re trying to show off,” I say, but the feeling of their fingers against my clit - rubbing it in slow, methodical circles, pressing resolutely down - is absolutely divine. My arms wrap around them and pull them closer. To their credit, they’re leaning their head down and kissing at my shoulder again, teasingly.

 

“It’s not showing off if it’s true,” they say, and I gasp as they suddenly bite me, a sharp sensation all too welcome. I moan quietly. I’m so enraptured that I don’t catch them rolling me onto my back until they’re above me, and pushing one of my legs up to get better access. My eyes snap open, and look up into their face. They’re giving me one of their stupid grins again, though dazed, pupils so dilated they look almost black. And meanwhile their hand’s wandering, farther down my slit, against my perineum, until they’re just barely brushing my other entrance. I gasp, and nearly swat them, and they pull away and back up to where I’m more comfortable.

 

Still, it’s good, and I’m rocking my hips up into the hand cupping around me. I let out a strained breath, barely able to notice how I’m beginning to pant. “Y-You’re awfully c-confident, Slayer.”

 

“I’ve thought about this scenario millions of times,” they say. Their hand curls back against my clit - I buck my hips up into the feeling. I moan a little louder, and shudder. Still, they continue. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it when we were sharing a bed. Even if we were supposed to just sleep, there were nights I couldn’t stop from thinking about it. Like the first time, except with me flipping you over-”

 

“Oh, Alex.”

 

“-slipping between you legs, pushing my fingers inside of you-”

 

“ _ Alexei _ . . .”

 

“-sometimes I thought about slipping my whole hand inside of you.”

 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” I gasp out, and push my hips closer, wanting it as they say, wanting myself to be full of them. They seem to know, and their hand comes down to my slit, first two of their fingers sliding into me, and then a third. I clench down around them, and my head falls back as I struggle for breath. How were they doing this to me so easily? Had it been so long?

 

“You’re so red, love,” they say, before pausing. They give me another hazy grin. “‘Love’. I like the sound of that.”

 

“Oh  _ Spirits _ . . . love-” I force myself to stammer their name, and they lean down and kiss me; their lips are so warm and swollen, and I try to kiss them back, but everything’s becoming hazy and too present. The feeling of the bed, the warmth of their body, the sensation of their fingers pressed inside of me. Three becoming four, and curling up, and my body arches without my control, and I’m fighting so hard not to just scream and let go.

 

“You can come,” They tell me. I shake my head, shuddering, so tense.

 

“I- I can’t-”

 

“Yes you can,” They kiss my cheek. “Unless you want more.”

 

I’m utterly drenched. I know I am, because their hand is so wet against me, and I’m barely able to prepare myself as I feel their fingers curl, and their thumb pushing in until their whole fist is mounted in my body-

 

And then it all breaks. I let out a horrendous sound, too openly pleasured, too wild, as my entire body clenches down around their hand. I don’t squirt like they do, not so easily, but my whole body’s like a vice, and I can hear them swearing as I toss against the sheets and tear them in my grasp. I reach up and throw my arms around them, pulling them flush to me as my entire body spasms and jerks, as heat floods through me, and I’m blinded to everything else.

 

For blissful moments, I can only think of one thing.

 

“Alexei . . .!”

 

***

 

I must’ve blacked out, or maybe I was just floating for a while - it’s hard to tell. But Alexei’s curled around me as I come to, hand free of me, holding me firmly and warmly. We’re both covered in slick and sweat. We probably smell like sex, too, but it’s all perfect. It’s warm, and tender. I can’t help but bathe in the moment.

 

Alexei’s not asleep, though I’d wondered for a moment. Instead they’re just watching me, smiling, tucking my head under their chin. I chuckle.

 

“You’re grinning.”

 

“You’re so beautiful,” they tell me. I can’t argue with that - they’re beautiful like this, too. I can’t wait to do this again, I think. I can’t wait to spend more time with them like this.

 

And then it hits me.

 

I slowly pull away from them, and look at them. They look concerned. “Eir?”

 

“How . . .?” I struggle to muster words. “How are we to . . . continue this? Now you’re with the Order, and I’m . . .”

 

Alexei doesn’t answer, not immediately. But their expression is serious enough, as they reach up and hold my cheek again. I let them, and take comfort from their presence. They take a deep breath.

 

“I’ll steal every moment of vacation I can, so I can come see you. And we’ll write letters - lots of letters. So many that you’ll get tired of writing to me.”

 

“I would never,” I say. I hum, and pull them closer. “I wish I hadn’t been so . . . stubborn. We could’ve been doing this all along.”

 

“You needed time. So I gave it to you,” they say simply. I start, and look them over.

 

“You knew?”

 

“I knew you were fighting with yourself over something. And I did my best to give you the time - though it was hard. Like that night where I nearly fell asleep against you, after helping the warband. Thought I was being too much. The reassurance was that you seemed so okay with it.”

 

“I’ve . . . had my moments,” I admit. “I kept thinking that it was my responsibility to be a good mentor, first. That I had to put my feelings aside for so many reasons. Honor, age, experience . . .”

 

“Differences in experiences isn’t always a bad thing. And I don’t care if you’re older than me - we’re both adults, and we care for one another, and that’s all that matters,” They pause. “I never even bothered to think of how old you might be. It never came to mind.”

 

“I’m forty-three,” I answer.

 

They shrug. “That’s a little more than twenty years in difference. I don’t mind. Just means you have more legend to you,” they slide their hand into my hair. They look concerned. “As for honor,” they continue, “I can’t think of a single way in which being with you would compromise my honor. We haven’t made any promises to each other yet, anyway.”

 

“I was supposed to be a moral and upstanding mentor,” I tell them. “Now our relationship has changed, but I always thought . . .”

 

“That our teaching relationship had to come first? Eir, you said it yourself - you’ve taught me so much already. Almost all you know. That time’s sort of passed, hasn’t it?” They meet me eyes, their own kind, yet serious, yet serene. “We met those promises. So, now I want to make some new ones with you: for as long as I’m with you, I’ll be honest, and true and faithful. Not a day will pass where I won’t think of you. I will hold you alongside myself, as my equal. And when I’m able, I’ll come find you. All of this, I swear.”

 

I snort. “You’re still young,” I say. “And you’ll be away for some time. Should you want another partner closer to home-”

 

“-then we’ll talk about it then. But until then, you’re my priority. I haven’t met anybody yet who I want to hold this close to my heart.”

 

They’re so honest with me. My eyes water. I lean in and kiss them, determined, before pulling back. “Alright,” I say. “Then as long as I’m with you, I swear to be honest and kind and loving. I swear to protect you with all the faith I have, and to hold you alongside my own desires. I swear that you will be my equal. And I swear that as long as you’ll have me, your name shall be the one I cry in the night.” I kiss their nose. “Have I forgotten anything?”

 

“No,” they smile. “That’s perfect, Eir.” Their eyes suddenly water, and they pull me even closer, and hide their face in my shoulder. “I’ll miss you, so much.”

 

“I’ll miss you too,” I tell them, and hold them just as tightly. Just as I’ve promised.

 

We hold each other like that until sleep claims us.

 

***

 

It’d been such a hard goodbye. Neither of us were particularly tearful as I dropped them off at their apartment, but I could tell they were holding back, as hard as they could. I gave them their last reminders as their mentor, and as many well wishes as I could. When they pulled me in for one last embrace, they promised they would meet me again. That they would never stop writing. When they pressed their face to my shoulder, I could tell it was wet.

 

I’m back at the asura gates waiting for my turn; traffic between Hoelbrak and Lion’s Arch is busy, but I’m patient. I’m hesitant to leave, with my every instinct to go back and take care of Alex. I’m smart enough to know that they need patience, and distance. But it’s still hard.

 

And it gets even harder when I hear my name called from a familiar, gravelly voice. I turn and nearly freeze as I see the tribune of Blood Legion walking up, still fully dressed in his armor, looking as stern as he usually did. Rytlock rarely relaxed. I’m frozen for all of a moment - and then I think of Alex. I force myself to stand taller, and control my breath.

 

“Rytlock,” I say, simple. “What is it?”

 

“You’re tense, Stegalkin,” he says. He sounds almost . . . friendly. Was that right? And he seems sincere when he says, “Wanted to apologize. Shouldn’t have piled on with Zojja; you were getting enough grief. Sounds like you’ve had it as rough as anybody.”

 

“. . . it’s been five years,” I tell him with a sigh. “And I’ve still struggled to get over his death, much like her. I have a statue of him at my homestead, actually. Carving him was one of the only ways to funnel the grief.”

 

“We’ve all struggled,” he says. He shifts from foot to foot, and looks away. “Always wondered what I could’ve done differently.”

 

“Of course,” I say, nodding sadly. “I wonder that about myself, too.”

 

“. . . you have a good partner,” he says, then. “It was good to see somebody besides Garm come to your aid. The two of you seemed close.”

 

He knew, then. There’s a part of me that wants to deny it, entirely - but then I think of our promises. Instead of hiding, I smile. “They’re . . . something else. You’ll be hearing of them, I’m certain. They have quite the legend ahead of them.”

 

“Well, I’ll be listening for it,” he says. He gives me almost a smile - a feat for him. “Well, I have to return to the Black Citadel. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

 

And there it was. I’d earned back a friend. My smile grows, and my eyes water. For the first time in a long time . . . I feel relief.

 

“I won’t be, Rytlock. Take care of yourself.”

 

The asura gate beckons, and I walk back into Hoelbrak with hope.


	7. Chapter 7

For the first time in five years, I have a fire lit underneath me. Shortly after I return home to Hoelbrak, I’m visited by the very person who tried to bring us all together in Lion’s Arch - Caithe. She’s clearly bothered by the cold, but I quickly invite her in for tea and ale. Even Garm gets up and sniffs her for treats, of which she has plenty. She knows us well.

 

“I’m so sorry about what happened in Lion’s Arch,” she says, frowning as she sits in an overlarge chair across from me. “I truly didn’t mean for things to get out of hand. I was hoping - no, thinking-”

 

“Things got out of control very quickly,” I muse. She nods. “I agree with you - I think fighting the dragons is important. But I’m not sure if we can reunite again. There’s so much tension between all of us now.”

 

“Logan and Rytlock, and you and Zojja. All very complicated things.”

 

“I’m not confident about stepping in between Rytlock and Logan,” I say while I sip my ale. “The only thing I could think of would be to find the partner to Rytlock’s sword and give it to Logan, but Rytlock and I are on better terms now. I’d hate to ruin that by disrupting the tombs.”

 

“And Zojja’s another matter entirely. She’s always been stubborn, but now especially so.”

 

“I don’t know how to convince her that I regret Snaff’s death as much as the rest of us,” I muse. “If I could simply show her the work I’ve done here- the work I’ve tried to do-”

 

“You carved Snaff outside.”

 

“I did that shortly after returning home. I couldn’t find a way to focus my grief, so I carved him. It took me a few attempts, and a scaled version, before I was happy with the result,” I say. I think it over, and quickly get up and go to my chest of supplies. “I might have the scaled version I made, actually. Let me see.”

 

I do have the smaller sculpture. It’s just the size of my hand, and though there were little parts that I didn’t expect to survive in my cluttered bin, all of it is intact. Snaff’s smile is forever encapsulated in stone. I look him over, and then go back to the table, and hand the figure to Caithe.

 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she marvels at it, turning it over in her smaller hands. “It’s beautiful. It really captured him well. Looking at him, I can immediately see his face in my mind again.”

 

“I’m glad. It took many weeks to get a sculpt of his this well. I’ve considered giving him to a blacksmith to make casts of, but at the time we were all so torn. I wasn’t sure if the gesture would be appreciated.”

 

“I’d love to have a cast of him,” Caithe says, looking up to me. “I’m sure all of the members of Destiny’s Edge would love to have a reminder of him. Perhaps we could make six of them?”

 

“I’m sure I could ask Beigarth, and get some casted . . . but why six?”

 

“Knowing Zojja,” she says sadly, “She’ll melt her cast in a fit. I’m sure she won’t say it aloud, but having a reminder of Snaff might help her, a lot, if she could look past all of her tension.”

 

I sigh. “It’s hard to tell. Zojja’s always been a private one. I wouldn’t want to aggravate old wounds.”

 

“I’m not sure you could do much worse than now.”

 

“That may be true, old friend. That may be true.”

 

After some more cajoling, I agree. We find Beigarth in the Great Lodge, and convince him to make six copies of the statue; while it destroys the original copy, within a week I find a package on my doorstep with six silver copies of Snaff’s likeness. I waste no time in packaging them all separately and writing short notes to all my friends.

 

To Logan, I write:  _ while circumstances have been complex and difficult, I trust that what happened to Snaff has gutted you as well as the rest of us. I sculpted him five years ago, and thought it well to send you a copy _ .

 

To Rytlock, I explain,  _ I’ve had a small sculpt of Snaff that I carved five years ago that I never pushed to its limits. You seemed remorseful when we last met, but I thought having something to remember him by would help. _

 

The letter to Zojja, I worry over. I rewrite it over and over again, some versions too long for one piece of paper, some too short for what I want to express. I even ask Caithe, while she stays with me, for advice. But finally, I come to a final draft.

 

_ Zojja, _

 

_ I know how you feel about me, after everything that’s happened. I’m not sure I can ever gain your forgiveness, but five years ago I made this sculpture of Snaff, a prototype for a larger ice sculpture that now sits outside my home. After talking it over with Caithe, we decided to make you a copy of it, for you to keep. _

 

_ If anything ever happens to this copy, there’s no need to worry. I have another cast if you ever need it. _

 

_ Eir _

 

“These casts did come out beautiful,” Caithe tells me as we finish packing them for transit. “It’s hard to think it’s been five years after what happened.”

 

“I know,” I say, resting mine on my bedside table. “I still think about it. What I could’ve planned differently. But . . . Snaff knew the risks. I think we all did.”

 

A noise of surprise. “That’s a different perspective than I thought you’d take. Whoever told you that?”

 

“My . . . partner,” I say. It still feels so odd to call them that. I turn to Caithe with a smile. “The one who came with me to the meeting. They helped calm me down after the fact. Gave me some reassurance that I’d been needing for too long.”

 

“They sound wise,” she says. I laugh.

 

“Well, I suppose they are, in some ways. Just growing into their legend, mostly. But they helped, a lot. I felt better after we spoke.”

 

Caithe sighs. “Oh, young love. I can remember it well. If only things hadn’t gone so poorly . . .”

 

“You did the right thing,” I tell her. “Faolin changed. She chose her path, and you yours.”

 

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Caithe admits. “It’s reassuring, to hear that repeated to me. Makes me think less that I’m going mad.”

 

When Caithe leaves a little while later, she takes her mold - and the mail - with her. And then, not long after, Garm and I pack our bags and set out into the Shiverpeaks.

 

Even if Destiny’s Edge couldn’t come together, I could help fight the dragons in my own way.

 

***

 

There’s letters waiting for me when we return home weeks later. Old letters, I think - but still good to read. After settling with some food and getting Garm curled up by fire, I sit down on the edge of my bed and read them.

 

Logan sent me a short letter, thanking me for the statue and telling of some of the work in Divinity’s Reach. News about the queen and the ministry that I haven’t heard, being so far away. His words are honest, but sad.

 

_ I think about that choice every day _ , he says.  _ I wonder if I should’ve stayed, or if it was better that I left. But I don’t regret my choice. I went to protect my queen - if I’d known what would’ve happened to Snaff, maybe that decision would’ve changed. But I never knew the outcomes. Neither did you. In the end, what happened isn’t something we can change. But maybe if I’d known the aftermath of it, I would’ve done something different. _

 

Rytlock’s letter is longer, talking about the expansion and reclamation of Ascalon and the work he’d been putting into his legions, day after day.  _ Work never stops _ , he writes.  _ Never expected it to. But it helps distract me from bitter truths. Like about Logan. I can’t forgive him for leaving us like he did. Not at the final hour. I wish we’d fought a little harder for him to stay - especially me. If I’d known how Snaff would’ve turned up, I would’ve found a way to make him stay. Not to mention my own feelings about the whole matter, like how I felt about him (I trust you won’t repeat that anywhere, Stegalkin). Still, there are things I wish I would’ve changed. _

 

Both of their letters echo the same things - regret. And I wish I could make them both see, that they had the same regrets, that they both wished for a different outcome. But I don’t know how to coordinate that at all.

 

Of course, I don’t expect a letter from Zojja, and I don’t get one. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I’m about as certain as Caithe was, that she’d just destroyed the model the moment she got it. How must it have felt, to unwrap a model of your mentor after his death? Was she surprised? Or did she expect some kind of sentimental letter asking for forgiveness?  _ I can’t ask her to accept an apology _ , I think to myself,  _ But I can offer that apology anyway _ .

 

Meanwhile, there’s a third letter I get that makes me giddy from my head to my toes. I’d expected Alexei to write to me, and I’m absolutely ecstatic that they’d written such a long letter for me. More than that, they sent me some gifts: rare Krytan currency, along with a collection of small wooden spoons that I can tell they’d carved from green. Their letter’s written the same way they talk: confident, and clear.

 

_ I can’t tell you much of what we’re doing, _ they say,  _ But my partner Tybalt and I have been around the Seas of Sorrow, and in Ascalon - both of them are absolutely beautiful. I’ve never been to a beach, but there’s all kinds of sands there, that gets in my boots really easily. And it’s so dry in Ascalon that nothing seems to want to grow. But the way the oranges of the ground strike against the blue of the sky is amazing. It’s exactly like you said it would be. _

 

_ We keep busy enough that I almost forget how much I miss you. But I can’t, even so. Sometimes I wish I was back in Hoelbrak, so I could hold you and kiss you. I hate the idea that you might be lonely, or feeling abandoned. If you ever say the word, I’ll come back for you, I swear. But until then, my work keeps me busy. I’m so proud to be doing the work that will help defeat the dragons. _

 

I write back to them. In fact, I do more than that - I write letters, and make them spoons of their own, and send them little sketches and pictures of my current projects. I send them torn maps of Ascalon back when I used to frequent the land. More than that, I send them bits of poetry and lovey sentiments. I’ve never been this enraptured with somebody before. I’m not even sure I’ve ever had a relationship this serious, besides one. But that had become so complicated. I find myself wondering, sometimes: how were they, off in Cragstead?

 

But I don’t have enough time to worry. Not with the attack.

 

***

I step out into the snow to get the mail. The snow has been thicker than ever, up to my shins; rumor had it that another storm was going to run through, and completely blanket the world. It’s hard to decide how much stock I can place in that, but the sky does look dire and dark. The only bright side was the subtle warmth that came before a storm - as warm as it could get, in the Shiverpeaks.

 

I stand at the gate of my steading to rifle through my mail. There’s a small note from the local crafter’s guild, calling for submissions for its seasonal charity drive. There’s also a small package from Knut - payment for the recent bounty I’d taken while I was out in the Peaks. And some letters from Ogden Stonehealer and another Priory magister off in Lornar’s Pass.

 

And then there’s the official letter in the same wrapping as Alexei’s letters.

 

It’s not signed with their usual pseudonym - in fact, it’s a letter signed by this same mysterious Riel we’d spoken of back in Lion’s Arch. I break the seal open and fold it out. I read first with concern, then outright fear.

 

_ Ms. Stegalkin, _

 

_ I am writing to inform you that some of our agents have gone missing in the aftermath of the attack on Lion’s Arch: _

 

_ Alexei Wright _

_ Tybalt Leftpaw _

_ Mirosikkva _

_ Sylvain Tiennan _

 

_ According to our reports, these were the agents who went to warn the Lionguard on Claw Island of the assault. _

 

_ We are doing everything in our power to locate those from the attack; however, we are also challenged by the evacuation of the city. When more is known, we shall contact you once more. _

 

_ Regards, _

 

_ Riel Darkwater _

 

An attack? On Lion’s Arch?! The letters in my hand all drop into the snow. I cover my mouth. I wonder if I’m about to be sick-

 

I hear somebody mutter my name. I look up quick. There are people out shoveling out the snow, staring at me. I turn and dart through the snow as quickly as I can, running until I’m back in the lodge, until the door is latching tightly closed behind me.

 

I sink down the wooden door and cry.

 

***

 

The storm blows through for three days, and leaves the lodge under a solid few feet of snow that Garm and I can’t leave. A cage made of ice - I can’t stop thinking, worrying, wondering, fearing. It’s an impossibility.

 

What  _ happened  _ to them? And what attack happened in Lion’s Arch? I have no answers for any of it. And the damnation of our relationship shines through: regardless of what we do, whether we’re apart or not, the chances of one of us getting killed or hurt or going missing are so high, so-

 

I struggle. I can’t do anything, never mind think; I spend most of the week in bed, curled up, pulling at my own hair with nerves. Garm seems to sense my unease. Though he’s rarely cuddly, he hops into my bed more than once and clings fast to my side. It’s a blessing among a curse.

 

When the weather finally clears, and the snow melts enough for me to go out, I check my mailbox. Immediately I spot two letters -  _ two _ \- with the same wrapping as the Orders’. I hike back inside and tear them open.

 

One of them is in Alexei’s handwriting. It’s such a relief that I have to put my face in my hands and try to control my tears; I can hardly manage it, with such reassurance. I master myself and take it to read.

 

_ Eir, _

 

_ I’m so sorry for the scare you must’ve had. I didn’t realize that the Order would send out letters about what happened; I barely even thought… _

 

_ No, that doesn’t matter. I  _ am _ alive. Somehow, we survived it. I’m still not sure how. _

 

_ My partner Tybalt and I found an Orrian scout in Lion’s Arch, and my friends spotted a ship off Bloodtide Coast. There was a sylvari, too, who found evidence of an impending attack, but even with all of that, we couldn’t prevent Claw Island from being taken. The reason the four of us went missing was because we all stayed behind so the injured Lionguard could be evacuated. I’m still not entirely sure how we all got out alive...according to my friends, I somehow shielded all of us. I’m a guardian. _

 

How could that be? I’d mentored them for more than a year, and never saw evidence that they were a guardian. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder. They  _ did _ have a natural tendency towards protecting people - that was clear with how cautious they were with my own safety. And there were times they seemed to emanate a subtle...glow. Sometimes blue, sometimes red. It was hard to tell. They were a good fighter, but they hadn’t fully realized their latent abilities, something that I know takes years and time. In the end, I suppose, it’s not too much of a surprise after all. Especially if the situation was as stressful as they say.

 

_ The Lionguard came back for us after I shielded everybody - or so I’m told. I blacked out on the field. Apparently the sylvari who was with us, a scholar named Trahearne, saw the glow from Gendarran Field’s coast and commandeered some men to look for us. The confusion is that we were left to heal with the Lionguard and couldn’t report into the Order until after they announced our disappearances. _

 

_ I can’t imagine how it must’ve felt for you. Hearing that I was...and after...I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could come home and see you - but I can’t. Lion’s Arch still needs protecting. And Trahearne has suggested we seek the guidance of the Mother Tree for a resolution. I’m going with him, of course. We have to find a way to stop the Risen. And after that, we go after Zhaitan. _

 

_ I’m thinking of you, love. Always. _

 

_ Alexei _

 

I’m shaking as I put the letter down. An attack on Lion’s Arch? By Zhaitan? The Risen have always been a threat, but up in the Shiverpeaks they’re practically unheard of. The torment and struggle that they must’ve put the whole city through must’ve been immense. And then for Alex to learn they had the abilities of a guardian as well…

 

It doesn’t bode well.

 

The Order’s letter reiterates most of what they said, so I grab my own stationary and write back:

 

_ Love, _

 

_ I don’t know when this letter will find you, but I’m deeply sorry to hear of what you’ve gone through. I can’t imagine what you’ve faced...not to mention the city. The Risen are barbaric creatures, abominations, but I’m afraid I don’t have much experience with them. Mostly I’ve dealt with Branded. All I can say of the Risen is: aim for the head. _

 

_ I’m so glad you’re alive. A snowstorm blew in between the Order’s notice and your letter; I was so worried. It’s a blessing that you’ve survived. The thought of losing you is too real in my mind, now. All I want to do is run to you and hold you. But I can’t. The Shiverpeaks will barely be traversable for the next week, and with Lion’s Arch evacuated… _

 

_ Please, be strong. And write back when you can. You will defeat this enemy, I know it. _

 

_ Eir _

 

I seal the letter and get up to walk it out to the mailbox. The moment I open the door, though, a white-covered figure stumbles in; I have half a second to realize it’s Caithe before I nearly punch her. I gasp, and stand back so she can come in. She’s dusting herself off, dressed in thick leaves, and she looks to me with wide eyes-

 

“Zojja’s going to Sorrow’s Embrace!”

 

“What?” I blink down at her, letter still in my hand. “The dwarven forge? Why is she-“

 

“I don’t know! She simply wrote that she’d be through the area! She wrote something about a ‘Kudu’, but her handwriting was smeared with oil from her work. I could hardly make heads or tails of it.”

 

“When was she supposed to come through?”

 

“Now! If she’s not already there-“

 

“That’d be impossible. There’s been a storm through the area that’s covered everything in a thick blanket of snow-“

 

“And she’s an  _ asura _ !”

 

“Oh, blast,” I put a hand to my forehead. I walk back to the table and put the letter down; I whistle to Garm. He darts up and starts grabbing his supplies. “She’ll be buried under a layer of snow taller than she is! Let me grab my packs and we’ll make for the Dredgehaunt Cliffs. Let’s just hope we aren’t too late.”

 

***

 

The act of searching is immediately worse than we’d feared. Dredgehaunt Cliffs had been hit hard with the last storm, putting the snow up my thighs and nearly over Caithe’s waist. Garm tunnels through it like he always does. He has experience with this kind of snow, at least, and he travels over and through it far easier than Caithe and I do. That doesn’t help our mobility, but it does help him nose into places where an asura could possibly be trapped, or into spaces where a lean-to could’ve been constructed.

 

But Dredgehaunt Cliffs is  _ huge _ . So massive, in fact, that we’re barely through half of it two weeks in. And that’s when another storm blows through, one so strong that Caithe and Garm and I have to find shelter, constructing a makeshift one on the side of a mountain and bracing in. It piles another two feet onto the snow already there.I have no choice, afterwards, but to carry Caithe on my shoulders. We only have the supplies for one pair of snowshoes, and I traverse the snow much easier than she did.

 

Weeks pass. So long that I worry we’ll be too late. We begin zeroing in on Sorrow’s Embrace, and the surrounding area. The dredge are so aggressive, all cooped up in their tunnels without the chance at fresh air. Garm gets tired. Caithe and I are both tired. We begin to think that there’s no chance, that she’ll have frozen in the tundra.

 

And then we find her.

 

Garm starts barking at a subtle indent in the snow. I immediately rush over, hopeful. He hasn’t barked like that since we started. He’s already trying to burrow in when I get there. I lower Caithe off my back, and she helps as we start digging through the snow with our hands. When we break through, we find a small miracle: Mr. Sparkles, barely active, huddled over the unconscious body of Zojja.

 

“She’s frozen,” I tell Caithe as I pick her up. Already, she’s beginning to feel like Snaff; my mind’s running wild. I look around. In the distance, I can see a mountain cave where I’m sure some trolls are taking refuge. I look back to Caithe. “We can make it to that cave and build a fire - we might have to clear out some trolls, but it’ll help get Zojja warm again. She’s absolutely freezing. Who knows how long she’s been out here-”

 

“Eir,” Caithe puts a hand to my arm. “She’s not Snaff.”

 

“She won’t be,” I tell her. I kneel down so Caithe can hop onto my back, and Garm, Mr. Sparkles, and I start marching up the mountain.

 

***

 

To our surprise, there’s no trolls in the cave. We’d gotten extremely lucky. Not even griffons, nor signs of life. They must’ve found the cave to be too cold, or had trouble getting the leverage to make it into the cave. As it is, Mr. Sparkles slips several times, and I have to drop Caithe and Zojja into the cave first so I can go back and heave Mr. Sparkles through the tough patch and inside.

 

Caithe builds up a fire quickly, and I reward Garm with a bit of jerky. We both check on Mr. Sparkles, and on Zojja’s supply pack. Her supplies are low. From the looks of things, she’d been parcelling out her rations rather shortly, trying to preserve them. And Mr. Sparkles’ heating system is nearly shot through. She must’ve taken shelter under him, and then passed out from the cold when he stopped producing heat.

 

But Zojja isn’t dead. Far from it. “She’s only been out a few hours,” I tell Caithe as we sit across each other, the fire between us, as we work through our own rations. “She should come to soon.”

 

“She won’t be happy to see us, I’m sure,” she worries. “She’ll make some jab about us interfering with her work.”

 

“We just saved her life. If she’s unable to see that much-”

 

“I’m not so sure, Eir. She’s been so frustrated with you.”

 

I know that. I look to Zojja’s body. She’s still unconscious, but the signs are there. Her pulse, her warming skin, the flutter of her eyelashes. She’s  _ alive _ . I didn’t screw up this time. She’s alive, and Garm and I had a part to play in that.

 

There has to be something to that.

 

***

 

She starts coming to a few hours later. Garm starts nosing at her, and barks at us. Caithe and I look at each other, and immediately double it to her side. She’s blinking, bleary-eyed, confused.

 

“Snaff?”

 

Caithe and I look to each other. Then, back down to her. “Not Snaff,” Caithe says softly. “You’re alive, Zojja. You’re still in Dredgehaunt Cliffs. You gave us a dreadful fright.”

 

Her eyes open fully. She’s lucid, now, and looking between Caithe and me. Her eyes settle on me, and she frowns. Slowly, she’s sitting up. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

 

I start. Then, I reach out, and try to make her lie down again. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?!” I ask her in a huff. “You gave us a fright! We were worried about you.”

 

“Oh, worried about the little, itsy-bitsy apprentice?” she scowls, and bats my hands away. She sits up regardless of my intentions.

 

I lean back, and put my hands in my lap. “Of course not, Zojja. I-”

 

“Then maybe you just wanted to see another asura  _ die _ , is that it?” she sniffs. “Well, you nearly got your wish. Unfortunately for you, it seems I’ve made a miraculous recovery.”

 

That hurts. I lean back and put a hand to my chest. It feels cold, and unnatural. I fight to get words out. I can barely manage it. “No- Zojja, Caithe and I came looking for you. Two storms have been through in the last two months! You were buried under ice and snow!”

 

“Like one of your sculptures, I’m sure. Now I know how they’re made.”

 

Caithe puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’re being incredibly unfair. And you’re still unwell. Lie back down. You need the rest-”

 

“I’ll have you know that I’m in full control of my senses,” she says as she stands. She looks around, and spots Mr. Sparkles. “I trust she didn’t break him much?”

 

“Of course not! But you ran him so hard that his heating sensors are all broken, from all we can tell,” I explain. She ignores me. She walks over to him and starts poking at different buttons. Probably trying to run a diagnostic test.

 

Caithe is slowly getting to her feet. She looks unhappy. “Zojja,” she says, “The only reason we got you out when we did was because of Eir. She and Garm marched through the snow for two  _ months _ to come and find you. Don’t you owe her an apology?”

 

“Ha! If anything, she still owes  _ me _ . She owes me far more than just my life!” she spins around and glares at her. “And given that it’s physically impossible for her to return what has been taken from me, she’ll be paying that debt for a very, very long time!”

 

It’s hurting even worse. I fight at the tears in my eyes. Listening to her . . . it’s so, so hard not to be back in the desert. “Zojja,” I say. “I did everything I could. And we knew the risks. Snaff- Snaff knew-”

 

“DON’T YOU TELL ME THAT HE KNEW THE RISKS!” she suddenly screams, so loud that Garm whines. “HE TRUSTED YOU, HE BELIEVED THAT YOU WOULD PROTECT HIM! AND YOU FAILED HIM, STEGALKIN! YOU AND YOUR USELESS TACTICS, YOUR STUPID SENTIMENTALITY! IF ONLY YOU HAD DIED INSTEAD, THEN SNAFF WOULD STILL BE HERE!”

 

My eyes are burning. I reach for her. “Zojja, I did everything I could-”

 

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she slaps my hand away. I bring it back like it was burned. Still, she continues. “IF YOU HADN’T BEEN SO HELL-BENT ON SENDING HIM INTO SUCH A DANGEROUS SITUATION, HE WOULD STILL BE HERE! IF YOU HADN’T BEEN SO STUPID, YOU COULD’VE TAKEN THE BLOW THAT KILLED HIM, AND SNAFF WOULD STILL BE HERE TODAY! SO DON’T YOU GO ON ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU REGRET, BECAUSE THAT’LL  _ NEVER _ BRING BACK MY MENTOR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, STEGALKIN?!”

 

The cave goes quiet. I’m shaking, shaking so hard I worry I might fly apart. And there’s tears down my face that I can’t control. I turn away and press my hands to my eyes. I can’t think. I can barely breathe.

 

Slowly, all of the energy drains out of my body. All hope, all relief, all thought. I can only feel one thing.

 

She’s right. I’m the living mistake.

 

“. . . I’m sorry,” I choke out.

 

Zojja doesn’t seem to have a response for that. Caithe, however, does. “What happened to Snaff gutted  _ all _ of us,” she says. “And there were so many reasons that things went wrong. It’s unfair to put all the blame on one person-”

 

“I think it’s completely fair. She’s not fighting back, is she?”

 

There’s nothing but cold, all through my body. I haven’t felt it in the vigor to find her. And everything that isn’t cold is just numb: numb through my chest, my head. I slowly bring myself to my feet. I walk over to my packs and start putting my supplies back together.

 

“Eir?”

 

“I see my help wasn’t needed,” I say. My voice is so weak. I strap my pack back to my side, and gesture to Garm. He whines. I shake my head. “Come along, Garm. Let’s . . . let’s . . .”

 

I feel Caithe’s hand on my back. “Don’t do this, Eir.”

 

I shake her off. Garm finally gets up, and trots to my side. Without looking back, I step out of the cave and back into the snow.

 

I can hear the shouting begin the moment I disappear from their view.


	8. Chapter 8

A month has passed, and I’ve never been so helpless.

 

I lie in bed, head against the pillows, but I don’t sleep. I don’t know when the last time I slept was. I barely even know when I last got out of bed. All that I can think, or feel, is caught up in my mistakes. Too many to count, now - losing Logan before we fought the dragon. Losing Snaff. My failure to protect him, too. And my stupid naivety, to think that I could do anything to fix what had gone wrong.

 

Garm whines at the end of my bed. He’s trying to get me to eat again. I’ve only eaten bits and pieces of food, and never gotten out of bed long enough to do more than clean up and eat. Even that, I could barely motivate myself to do. I feel so weak it’s almost impossible to do anything.

 

I’ve made so many mistakes. Everything with Destiny’s Edge - and before that, too. Being so foolish as to let myself become pregnant. And then not raising that child when the opportunity arose - all because I was just too weak. So I gave that child away, and never approached him, now fourteen years later. It’s helpless. I’m helpless.

 

I’d made it my goal to fight the dragons, but all I’d done was screw up. Why was I even a hero if all I made were mistakes?

 

If I was supposed to fight the dragons . . . even if I died . . .

 

Slowly, I sit up in bed. Everything’s painful; I can barely manage it. I look over to Garm. He’s looking at me expectantly. I get off the bed, and go to my supplies.

 

“We’re going north, Garm. Get packed up.”

 

I hear a whine. Then, I feel Garm nosing at my side. I shoulder him off. “I said,” I tell him, “Go get ready.”

 

I focus on doing this, even though everything feels blighted. Packing up my last supplies of rations from the ice box, and putting them in my pack. Rifling through my notes, and picking out my maps of the Frostgorge Sound. Then, going to the wall and picking out my favorite bow. I wonder, for a moment, if I should bring anything else. But then again, if it was all going to get burned in the end . . .

 

When I turn around, Garm’s sitting on the carpet, looking at me with big, sad eyes.

 

I burst.

 

“COME ON! THIS IS THE ONE OPPORTUNITY I HAVE TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT, AND NOT EVEN  _ YOU _ WILL LET ME DO THIS!”

 

I put a hand to my face - and tears finally spill over my cheeks. I start sobbing, wildly, barely able to stay on my feet with how hard my body is shaking. The supplies fall out of my hand, and onto the floor. I wail, and my knees lock - I about fall to the floor when I hear it.

 

The knocking at my door.

 

“DAMMIT, CAITHE!” I cry out as I march to the door and yank it open. “I DON’T WANT TO-”

 

It’s not Caithe.

 

Where I’m looking to where her face should be, I’m seeing a bust. And when I look up to the face before me . . .

 

_ Alexei _ . . .

 

They look shocked - and radiant. Dressed in shining armor, with scalleywag pauldrons, and leggings spiked out down to their boots. Their pauldrons and gloves are black and bronze; a soft-looking banner falls from their waist in similar colors. The rest of their armor is silver, bright and new. And their wild red hair is down. They look like . . . they look like a real, live hero.

 

And they look stunned.

 

“. . . Eir?” they ask. I realize I’m still crying, though I’m stunned into silence. I look away. I try to blot the tears out with my forearm.

 

“. . .A-Alex,” I stammer. I swallow, hard. “I w-wasn’t expecting . . .”

 

My voice drifts off. Alexei steps closer, and their hand comes up to my face. It’s freezing, what with the cold armor over it. “Love . . .” They worry. “You’re crying.”

 

I sniffle. “I was j-just leaving.”

 

“I could hear,” they say. They sound so concerned. A pathetic, whimpering noise falls from my lips, and they’re suddenly stepping forward and bringing me into their arms. I hit their back weakly - I don’t want to be  _ coddled _ \- but I finally give in. I press my face to their smooth shoulder and start crying, weak, shuddering like a child.

 

A  _ child _ .

 

“Eir,” they say, but it only makes me cry harder. I can feel them shifting, gently,moving us back. And then I hear the door closing behind them. Still, I cling onto them, and sob.

 

“Alexei . . .”

 

“When I didn’t get a letter back from you, I got worried. But I got so busy with everything - especially the Pact.”

 

I stammer. “P-Pact?”

 

“We formed an alliance, Eir . . . to fight Zhaitan, and all the dragons. The Vigil, Priory, and the Order,” they explain. They pause, and rub my back. “You look so tired, Eir . . .”

 

“I’m . . .” I trail off. I shudder again. But slowly, they’re pushing me back, and I don’t have the heart to pull them back, even though my mind is screaming for more, more presence, more warmth. Instead, though, they’re reaching for the seams of their armor, and beginning to unclip it from their body.

 

“Let me get this armor off,” they say. I nod. They’re guiding me to the bed first, helping me sit down before stepping away and beginning to undo their set. The pauldrons come off, first, one at a time. Then their glowing silver top piece, which unhinges at the sides and folds off at the shoulders. They set it aside, before working off the black armor underneath - smaller plates, more like scale mail, which just pulls over their head. Then, their boots, and finally, their leggings, which unclip in the back and they simply step out of. They spread their set over the table before stepping back to me, clothed in their tight undershirt and panties. Sitting at my side, and then pulling me into their arms again.

 

“Tell me everything,” they say. “I was so worried. You didn’t write back to me. I feared that something had happened to you. I had to come find you, but I’ve only been able to come back to Hoelbrak just now.”

 

“My letter?” I ask, bleary. Then, I remember: It was still sitting on my dresser, unsent. I’d been so surprised by Caithe’s arrival and her news about Zojja that I’d entirely forgotten about it.

 

“I’ve barely been able to think, worrying about you. I was worried you were mad, or . . .” they stop, and give an awkward chuckle. “I guess I don’t know why you’d be mad, but . . . I couldn’t stop thinking something was wrong.”

 

“It’s . . .” I stop. Speaking takes so much effort, now that I’ve had my outburst. I close my eyes, and hide my face in their shoulder. “It’s been so, so much, Alexei.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

So I do. I tell them about Dredgehaunt Cliffs, how Zojja nearly died - how she yelled at me after, told me I should’ve died instead of Snaff. I tell her how Caithe had tried to defend me, but failed; I explain about the storms, blowing through one after another, making it so hard to travel that we’d nearly given up hope on Zojja being alive. I tell them about the letters from the Order, and how one of the storms had come in between the notice of their going missing and their letter being alive. And I tell them about the statuettes. How much hope I’d put into them. It’s so much to share all at once, but it slowly pours out of me, as they slowly bring me back to lie in bed. They’re silent as they listen, facing me, brushing the hair out of my face as I retell it. I tell them until my words are dried up, and until I can’t think. And then I finally fall silent.

 

They look strangely pensive - not a look I’ve seen on them often. They sweep my hair back and gently touch my cheek. “What were you going to do now?” they ask, softly.

 

I sigh, and shut my eyes. “I was going to head north. Fight Jormag, however I could. Regardless of whether I died or not.”

 

They don’t answer that. I look to them, but they’re silent, just touching my cheek like this. I wish I could explain to them exactly how it feels, to be so empty like this; it’s like all happiness has been sucked from my bones. I shut my eyes again. They lean in, and kiss my forehead. Their lips are so soft against my skin.

 

“Let’s not do anything rash,” they say gently. “Let’s take care of you, first. As much as we can. When did you last eat?”

 

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I haven’t been eating much.”

 

“Then I’ll assume you aren’t hydrated either. Okay. When did you last take a bath?”

 

“A few days ago, I think.”

 

“Then let’s get you into a bath. Come on - up slowly,” they say as they sit up and help me to my feet. It’s slow-going, but once I’m upright, they take my hand and start leading me towards the bathroom. It’s small, but I was lucky to have running water. Hot water, too; they sit by the tub, and start running it. Water pours from the faucet into the basin; they check it with their hand. They look to me and smile. I can’t bring myself to smile back.

 

“Gonna get you into a warm tub, and while we do that, I’ll put something on the fire for dinner,” they say. “Do you have any birds? I could get that roasting over the fire pretty quickly.”

 

“I might,” I say, softly. Then, I remember. “I’d pulled out a bird from the freezer, trying to be hopeful. But I haven’t cooked it yet.”

 

“Where is it?”

 

“The fridge, still.”

 

“Stay here and get yourself into the water,” they say, before leaning in and kissing my forehead again. “I’ll be right back.”

 

They dart out of the bathroom. I lean down to check the water; it’s warm, but not too hot. Just how I liked it - they remembered, from when we were in Lion’s Arch. Slowly, I reach down and pull my tunic off over my head. Then, I shuck off my greaves. Though the water’s still running, and the tub’s not nearly fully, I step into the water and curl up into a ball. It’s a relief to be warm, at least.

 

A few minutes later, Alexei walks back in, smiling. “It’s a good-looking bird,” they say as they start stripping off their own clothes. “Is there room in there for me to join you?”

 

I look at the water level. It’s a little high, but . . . “Of course.”

 

They step into the tub and lower themselves in with a sigh. Immediately, they curl up against my side and wrap their arms around me. They bring my head to their shoulder; they hold me so warmly I could fall asleep. Still, their voice is soft.

 

“Do you want to talk about Zojja and Snaff again?”

 

I sigh. “I’ve already told you so much. You must be tired of hearing it. Sick of it.”

 

“Never.”

 

I look up at them, but their eyes are clear, and honest. I turn and nuzzle against them. My arms wrap around them. I can’t clear the anxiety from my voice.

 

“Kralkatorrik must’ve known we were coming. Or maybe our movements were too obvious. But he knew how to break up the group. He sent minions, Branded, to Ebonhawke; Queen Jennah was there, and requested aid from Logan. He insisted on going after her, of course; he was a lovedrunk fool from day one, we all agreed. Apparently he’d fallen in love at first sight . . . I know well enough how that turns out. But we couldn’t persuade him to stay. I told him to do what he thought was right, and thought that would convince him to stay . . . but instead, he stole one of Snaff’s teleporters and fled.

 

“I was the tactician of the group, but I had placed so much faith in Snaff. So much, in fact, that I believed he’d be able to defend himself against Kralkatorrik on his own. He had his golem, of course; originally, Logan was supposed to defend him, but we didn’t have any more room in our plan. I had to put faith that he could take care of himself.”

 

I find myself choking on tears again.

 

“I was wrong. Kralkatorrik killed him, and Glint - our dragon companion. It was . . . I was left to carry Snaff away from the wreckage. So he could have a funeral. But we all broke out into such arguing. Everybody, shouting at one another, saying that nobody did enough, that it was Logan’s fault, or  _ my _ fault. Zojja screamed at me, like she did in the Cliffs. She was . . . just inconsolable. She said I should’ve died instead. Insisted that it was my fault that he died. And Rytlock seemed to agree with her. Said that I was a fool for thinking that we could’ve done it. There was just . . . so much. And I wanted to tell them that I was sorry - but sorry wasn’t enough. Not after that.

 

“When we finally gave up, I came back home to Hoelbrak. I couldn’t do anything for months. I was . . . lying in bed, lost. I couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything, or to get in touch with anybody. I was wasting away. And . . . and finally, one day, I decided that the only thing I could do was to try and make memoriam of Snaff’s legacy. Like I would for a norn,” I press closer, and sigh. “It took ages. I thought I had his face perfectly in my memory, but months had passed by then, and I was . . . uncertain. I made so many sketches. Ran through so many prototypes. And finally, I made a smaller statue of him that worked. It took the Spirits’ guidance and so much of my own traumatized memories to make it work. But eventually, I did. I carved him outside. And . . . and that finally gave me hope to try and restart everything again. To try and make a life that I was proud of. For the longest time, all I did was make commissions. The Great Hunt was my attempt to really come back, but even then . . . I was uncertain.”

 

I look up at them, unable to clear the tears from my eyes.

 

“And then you came along.”

 

They give me a soft smile. Their hand comes up into my hair. “I fell on my ass when I tried to defeat Issormir.”

 

“You did.”

 

“I was so nervous. I didn’t expect that you would be leading the challenges. I was giddy with excitement.”

 

“I remember well enough. You were squirming. And then you stood the only victor - when I presented you to the rest of the norn, you were still red!”

 

“Is that when you really got me on your radar?”

 

“Yes. I knew, even then, that you were a hero to watch out for. And now . . .” I find myself giving a weak smile. “What are you, now? A hero?”

 

“Slayer of Issormir,” They whisper to me softly, “Hero of Lion’s Arch. And now, Pact Commander.”

 

I raise a brow. “Commander?”

 

“My friend, Trahearne, became Marshal of the Pact, because he was a neutral party. But he asked me to be Commander. I’ll be in the field, fighting Zhaitan directly.”

 

Another thing to worry about. Would I always be worrying for their safety? I press my cheek to their shoulder and go quiet. I fear that someday, they’re just going to disappear on me. I hold them even tighter, just thinking of it.

 

We’re quiet, for long moments. They lean down and kiss my brow. They speak softly, and gently.

 

“You’ve been so devoted to protecting people, Eir. And not just that. You’ve developed so much . . .  _ compassion _ . You’re always thinking of other beings, and other people. You’re so in-tuned to them that I think you feel their emotions as your own. And that doesn’t make you weak; that makes you so, so strong, because you try to see the best in people, and see their thoughts and feelings as your own. But I think that causes you to conflate their words and their pain as being equal.”

 

I look up to them. “What do you mean?”

 

“Do I think it’s unfair that Zojja’s lashing out at you? Absolutely. But I think it’s more complex than her simply blaming you. She has a lot of her own grieving to do. And I think a lot of her reflection about you protecting him applies more to how she feels about herself.”

 

“You think she blames herself for his death.”

 

“Yeah. Even more than you, maybe. I mean, I’m not  _ great _ with people . . . but I sure know that I spent so long blaming my sister for leaving. It took a long time for me to realize that I was really blaming myself.”

 

I shift. “That’s more than one person’s fault, though.”

 

“. . . maybe. But it’s definitely more complex than you just blaming yourself, or Zojja blaming you, either. What happened to Snaff was tragic, horribly so . . . but think about it. You’re not the one that attacked him. Neither was Zojja. The one who attacked him was Kralkatorrik, and his minions.  _ Not _ you, and  _ not _ Zojja. In the end, you two were just bystanders. You shouldn’t be blaming each other. You should be blaming-”

 

“The dragon,” I mutter. And they’re right . . . I can begin to see that, now that some of the haze is lifting. And Kralkatorrik is still out there, taking away people’s friends . . . killing people who were loved. And so were the others. Hadn’t Zhaitan nearly managed that with my Alex? Alexei, and their friends?

 

Alexei slips my hair over my ear, and holds me closer. “We should get out of the tub soon,” they say. “The water’s getting cold.”

 

“I know,” I murmur. “But let’s . . . I just want to stay. Just a little longer.”

 

They smile softly. “Okay,” they say.

 

We stay in that water until it long turns cold.

 

***

 

It feels like the bird is the tastiest thing I’ve eaten in a long, long time. Neither one of us get dressed when we get out of the tub - instead, we sit in our towels and eat across from one another at the table. They look stunning, backlit by the fire - the light showing off their strong shoulders, the gentle curves of their breasts, the slight dip in their waist. They look stunning - truly blessed by the Spirits. Maybe even more.

 

I eat rather quickly, and a fair bit more than I usually would - being as depressed as I was, I’m famished now, and manage to eat as much of the bird as Alexei does. Then we go to the bed, and lie down. I tangle myself around them, and hold them closely. They wrap their arms around my back and play with my still-damp hair.

 

“Things are moving so fast,” they whisper, as they look into my eyes. “I’m glad I had the time to come here and reassure you. I was so worried . . .”

 

“Me too,” I admit. I rest my hand against their cheek. “And now you’re a Commander. That’s quite the step up, Alexei.”

 

They shrug. “I was a Lightbringer before this. It’s a bit of a leap, but not as far as it would’ve been as agent.”

 

“I wasn’t aware you were made Lightbringer.”

 

“That happened just before Claw Island,” they say. They frown, and go quiet. “It was . . . it was so awful. Fighting the Risen, and watching so many people die. Nearly watching my friends fall. And . . . and then my hair.”

 

“What about your hair?” I ask.

 

They look surprised. “You didn’t see?” They take my hand, and bring it to their scalp, where-

 

I cry out and sit up, fast. From the light of the fire, I suddenly see it - where there should be hair, on the left side of their head, there’s instead  _ scarring _ . Mangled scarring, skin so tough that no hair was growing.  _ How didn’t I see?! _ I think. I had been so depressed that I had completely missed it!

 

“Your poor  _ hair _ ,” I gasp. My eyes are watering. They sit up with me, and reach out to hold my face. They shush me as tears fall over my lashes.

 

“I’ve . . . I’ve had some time to come to terms with it. It- well, it’s not easy. But Risen grabbed it while I was fighting, and tore it loose. The clerics couldn’t get anything more than scarring to grow over it.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” I tell them as I lean forward and fold them into my arms. “I know how proud you are of your hair.”

 

“I . . . yeah. It’s getting easier, slowly. Bright side, the chicks dig it,” they joke lightly. I hiccup. They sigh. “Yeah, it’s still a dire situation. Maybe someday something more can grow there, but not yet. Until then, I’ve been stringing beads into my hair. Only reason I didn’t do it today was because I had serious business in the city.”

 

“I . . . never did ask why you came up here,” I say. They pull back, and put their hand to my cheek.

 

“Mourning a friend that I lost to the krait. A friend who gave us a great boon - but not just that. I wanted to come find you, Eir,” they pause, and finally say it. “I want you to join the Pact as a member of Destiny’s Edge.”

 

Me? Really? “What about everybody else?” I ask.

 

“I’ve extended invitations to them as well, but I wanted to ask you directly. I know you’ve wanted to do something against the dragons, and thought it’d be best to ask you while I was here. Obviously you wouldn’t be a foot soldier - but we’d ask for your skills as a tactician. And somebody who can help advise Marshal Trahearne - he’s still learning the ways of the field, and he could use a lot of sound advice. Plus, well . . .” they chuckle awkwardly. “It’d give me the chance to be close to you, and keep an eye on you. So it’s a bit selfish as well. But you won’t blame me, right?”

 

They do have a point. A strong point. The idea of not being near them is almost gut-wrenching. And being with the Pact would allow me that. But . . .

 

“Lots of people will have firm opinions of me,” I say. They shake their head.

 

“Whether they do or not doesn’t matter, because I’m running a tight ship on that kind of bullshit. Believe me, I hear enough sentiments against the other orders to make my head spin. But I’d never let anybody speak ill of you, ever.”

 

“What about our relationship? What if they find out about that?”

 

“Then they’ll understand that we’re protective of one another,” they reach down and take my hand. They bring it to their lips, and kiss my fingers. It’s so noble a move I nearly laugh, just a little bit. They look up at me with beautiful green eyes. “I still intend to hold my promises. To protect you, as you protect me. If you came with us . . .”

 

“I know,” I say. Being with another group - even as large as the Pact - could satisfy a lot of needs. The need for companionship. The need for closeness. And my need to fight the dragons head-on, and contribute, and feel like a hero again. And being with Alex, and holding them dear to my heart, where I need them . . .

 

Well. It’s an easy decision, isn’t it?

 

“Alright. I’ll go with you.”

 

Their eyes go bright with tears. They lean in and kiss me, softly, before pulling back with a smile.

 

“I was hoping you’d say that, love.”


	9. Chapter 9

We’re put to work the moment we arrive in Fort Trinity. It’s such a shift in environment that I’m taken aback, at first. So many  _ people _ , of all different races, gathered in one place! And more than that, so many people who saw me, recognized me, but then went for  _ Alex _ instead. Advisors, soldiers, people looking for advice and guidance and jobs to do. Even Alexei seems stunned by it, at least for a moment, before they fold in with the rest of them, and take it in stride. I’m stunned at their adaptiveness. I try to stick to their side, just as well as Garm sticks to mine. It’s an onslaught.

 

“I know everybody has questions,” they start saying in lieu of any conversation, “But we gotta get to Marshal Trahearne. Where is he?”

 

“In the Caer,” somebody says, and they take my hand and start leading me through the crowd. To their credit, everybody seems to recognize that we’re busy and gives us some room, but it’s still a bit overwhelming. Not that I’m unused to crowds - I’ve faced my fair share - but to see how Alexei  _ commands  _ them, how their presence brings attention. It’s unlike what we we’re used to back in Hoelbrak. As the Slayer, they barely bring so much as anybody’s gaze!

 

We do make it to the Caer, though, and to a group gathered around a tall sylvari, dressed and colored in greens and browns. Once the group breaks up - I can see three of them are in colors of the Vigil, Priory, and Order - Alexei introduces me to him, the Marshal Trahearne they had been telling me about since we left Hoelbrak.

 

“It’ll be good to have some guidance,” Trahearne admits to me. “Many of my advisors are helpful, but I have yet to find anybody unbiased.”

 

“Even I’m particular to my old guild,” Alexei adds. “But like Trahearne, you never joined any of the three guilds. So you’re fair game.”

 

“True. I had my own guild,” I say. I look between the two. “Who makes the most of the wartime strategy?”

 

“I make particular calls all throughout the Pact,” Trahearne explains. “Alexei makes most of the calls directly on the battlefield.”

 

“I see. Where would I be most helpful?”

 

“I’ve got everything on the battlefield handled,” Alexei says with a smile. “Stick with Trahearne. I think he could use all the advice he can get.”

 

“I’m always open to hearing more opinions,” Trahearne says. “The two of us can meet tomorrow, and discuss strategy. In the meantime,” he turns to Alexei with a sigh. “I do have another task for you, quite immediately.”

 

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” they nod. “Of course. Do you want to debrief me now, or do I have time to show Eir to our rooms?”

 

“Go get Eir settled in. It’ll be waiting for us when you return. And the person I want you to meet would rather some privacy, so I believe it’ll be better then,” he waves us away. “Go get settled in. I’ll see you tomorrow, Eir.”

 

***

 

From that moment, we’re busy. Alexei starts going on missions that take them away for days, even weeks at a time. Meanwhile, I stay in Fort Trinity to advise Trahearne. He’s incredibly smart - a scholar, somebody who’s intelligence I can appreciate. He lacks some of my wisdom, just from the difference in age, but he’s eager to learn and listen, so I teach all that I can. It reminds me of having a student again. While Alexei had been far more hands-on and physical, Trahearne soaks in all of the technical work of leading an army, and he listens intently.

 

The Pact itself is massive, a coalition bigger than I had ever expected. Each of the Orders, of course, are large enough in their own right, but this was simply an amass of so many different races, cultures, groups, that it’s a touch mind-boggling to think of. And they all work with such coordination, as well. Just as I teach Trahearne how to command such a large group, so does he tell me of how he’s arranged the Pact. And more than that, he learns quickly to introduce me to his men and women, to give me a visual on the troops. It’s a smart move. A

Seeing me, a member of Destiny’s Edge, seems to inspire the troops to work harder, and if that works, then so be it. I don’t mind being a point of morale, when it inspires others to continue.

 

Alexei always comes back with good news, or a victory in tow, or at least a bright side. But I can tell it drains them to be doing this so regularly. The tenseness of their body when they return for a few nights in our bed, and the exhaustion that pulls at them . . . being commander isn’t easy for them or their body. So I do what I can: I hold them, reassure their worries, help to work away all of their tension so they can go back into the field refreshed and ready. But it’s not easy.

 

The bright side is that their messages seem to be getting through. Caithe turns up almost out of nowhere one day, right when Trahearne and I are discussing strategy. She surprises me so much that I’m reaching for my bow before she can speak. It’s only Trahearne that manages to stop me, and greet his fellow firstborn.

 

“I got the call when I was returning to the Grove,” she explains as she joins us. “Though we cannot seem to bring together Destiny’s Edge, I thought it important to come and lend aid. Where can I make most impact?”

 

I think on it for a long moment. I barely remember that Alexei had called for the rest of Destiny’s Edge to come help. But after a moment, I settle, and nod. “I hate to put you with the trainees,” I say, “But there are many that would benefit from your abilities in stealth, and your knowledge in poisons. There are several divisions I can think of that would benefit from some aid.”

 

“Not on the field?”

 

“The hope is that we can convince the rest of Destiny’s Edge to come together. And while that may not be . . . possible . . . we’re trying to hold out. I feel our best move is to keep us here, in Fort Trinity, while we band together. After all, if we’re to take Arah, we’ll want all of us in top shape.”

 

“A wise move,” Caithe nods with me. “Very well. I’ll aid the troops. And, Eir?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“It’s good to see you looking so positive, again.”

 

When Alexei makes it back from a mission days later, to hear that Caithe had joined us, they’re ecstatic. “I’ll have to introduce myself properly,” they say as we stroll through the complex. “She seemed reasonable when we met in Lion’s Arch, but I never spoke with her.”

 

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from the one who called for her aid,” I say. They laugh.

 

“Maybe so. Either way, I’m glad she’s here. Of everybody, she seemed like the most reasonable. Which begs the question . . .”

 

“I wonder if anybody else will be willing to come,” I think. I remember Logan and Rytlock - how at each other’s throats they were. And Zojja . . . and her anger. The likelihood of them coming to help us seems extremely low. And with that in mind, when I sit down to talk with Trahearne about the assaults on Arah, I calculate for only Caithe and myself to be the present members of Destiny’s Edge.

 

And then, two-thirds of the way into the campaign, I’m surprised.

 

***

 

There’s heavy knocking on the door. I’m roused from sleep, dazed from the weariness of my afternoon nap. Garm’s barking at the door, too. I carefully roll out of bed, and straighten my armor out.

 

I look to the sky outside. It’s sunset - and  _ wasn’t I supposed to meet Trahearne before now? _

 

I dart across the room to grab my bow and arrows. The moment they’re strapped to my body, I’m making a beeline to the door and ripping it open-

 

“I know, I’m late, I’m deeply sorry-”

 

I stop.

 

. . . amI hallucinating? Or is this-

 

“Rytlock? And Logan?”

 

I’m not hallucinating. It’s  _ both _ of them, still dressed in their armor, and looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I step back, stunned, and Garm darts out from beside me to stand up and batt at the two of them. Logan starts - Garm’s the size of him! - but laughs, and tries to calm him down. Meanwhile, Rytlock kneels down and starts scratching Garm behind the ear, an act that makes his back leg start to thump in a familiar, satisfied way.

 

“I see Garm remembers us,” Logan says as he digs out some jerky from his pocket. “Must’ve smelled the food on me.”

 

“What are you two  _ doing _ here?” I ask. Rytlock looks up at me from where he’s knelt.

 

“We were called here,” He growls out. “By your squire.”

 

“And we thought we’d answer that call,” Logan answers. I’m still so baffled. Logan leans down and feeds the piece of jerky to Garm.

 

“I-I thought the two of you were arguing,” I say, almost dumb.

 

“We’re . . . working on it,” Rytlock says as he stands. “Are you complaining?”

 

“No, no; not at all. I’m just . . . my goodness. I hadn’t even thought that the two of you might come around,” I admit. I think, and finally ask, “Have you talked to Marshal Trahearne yet? Does he know that you’re here?”

 

“We were looking for him, but apparently he was in a meeting, so we asked after you instead,” Logan explains. “Somebody said you were taking an afternoon nap in your rooms, so we knocked on every door until we found it.”

 

“We didn’t expect that you’d be in the  _ Commander _ ’s rooms, though,” Rytlock points to the where I know the plaque for the door’s hung. I shake my head.

 

“It’s a long story, you two. But it’s a reassurance to see the two of you are making up. I . . . admittedly, I haven’t thought about where I would place you two. I thought only Caithe and I would arrive. I-” I stop. “. . . I thought you two, and Zojja, weren’t going to come around.”

 

“This dragon’s too important to fight amongst ourselves over,” Rytlock growls. “Zojja seemed hesitant when we talked to her, but she might be coming around. We’ll just have to see.”

 

“Now,” Logan says as he gestures to the hall, “Why don’t we go find this Marshal, so we can work out where Rytlock and I are going to fit into this?”

 

***

 

Trahearne and I map it out with Rytlock and Logan. Caithe was taking on a good chunk of the troops, teaching them about her skills as a thief. And I was taking on another subset, ground troops who needed knowledge of better aim, or bonds with their companion animals. Rytlock and Logan, we decide, can each take on another set of troops who need knowledge in hand-to-hand combat. “Rytlock, you especially have some knowledge in guiding troops,” I point out to him as we look over the charts of their designated troops. “Lots of these troops have charr in them, so you’ll command respect easily.”

 

“Never needed help to do that,” he jokes. I laugh lightly. Logan snickers a little, but Trahearne is serious.

 

“I’m tempted to put them in the field,” he says to me. “You’re sure we want to hold back until Arah?”

 

“I want to make sure we’re all in our best conditions before then. Staying at Fort Trinity helps that. Unless you had a mission in mind?”

 

“Alexei and I have already discussed their involvement with getting ground troops to the entrance of Arah. And the two of us were going to look after the airships - if there was anybody who could look after a  _ navy _ -”

 

“Ascalon doesn’t have any ships,” Rytlock points out. Trahearne shakes his head.

 

“I believe it’ll be the same theory as any other set of troops. Having your guidance with getting our naval team to Arah would be a great boon. Not immediately, of course - but it’ll be a little more than two months before we’re there.”

 

“That’s true. Although- Logan-” I suddenly remember as I look to him. “Perhaps you could put your guardian skills to use, as well. Our Commander, actually, has some abilities as a guardian as well. If you could show them-”

 

“Your friend?” he asks. I nod. “I could try - although to be honest, I’m a little worried they’ll squash me like a bug.”

 

“They aren’t like that. They’re-”

 

-walking through the gates to the Caer. We all look up as the gates creak, and the first thing I see is their face, entirely weary, filled with exhaustion. And then I cry out, and rush forward the moment I see their hand pressing to their side - covered with blood.

 

“Alexei!” I grab them and help them to the table, and sitting. They look pale, but not badly; they can’t be too heavily injured. I look to Rytlock, who immediately leaps off, shouting for a medic. I look back to Alexei. “Are you alri-”

 

“Yeah . . . yeah,” they hiss out as they pull their hand away from their side. I can see better now with their hand away. Their armor’s caved in, split apart, the two sides of the tear curling through a seam in their plated mail and into the cut of their body. I look back to them. They explain. “A Wraith hit me with some kind of energy cut, and it broke my armor.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Just off the shores here. It appeared on the boat we were returning on.”

 

I swear. Trahearne gets up and starts helping to unclip their armor. They cry out the moment he tries to shift it off of them; the metal is cutting harsher into their side. It’s not too deep - not into the open cavern of their body at least - but it’s still further into their skin than desirable.

 

“We need to cut it off,” Trahearne says, frowning. “A pity. But, better that we learn about this now. We’ll have to forge you stronger armor so this doesn’t happen again.”

 

“I should’ve checked your armor set before we even returned here,” I mourn. I watch their expression. Their eyes are squeezed shut in pain, and I reach up with both hands to thumb away the tears. “Breathe, Alexei. The medic will be here soon.”

 

Logan’s come around to look at their side. He frowns. “An ordinary medic isn’t going to be able to pull the armor out without taking off your whole set - and that’ll leave a hell of a mark. I might be able to pry it loose with my dagger, but I can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

 

“It’ll cut the wound open further, Logan,” I remind him. He nods.

 

“But it’ll be less painful than swinging the whole set off.”

 

I look to Alex. They’re turning and looking at him with a pinched brow. Their eyes are about as wide as they can get, this contorted with pain. “You’re . . . Logan.”

 

“Yeah. We met in Lion’s Arch. Do you trust me?”

 

“. . . yeah. Yeah, do it. I don’t care if it scars. Eir, do you care if it scars?”

 

I frown. “I’d rather that you heal. If you’re alright with the mark . . .”

 

“Then do it.”

 

Logan and I swap a look. I kneel up and hold them. They bring their arms up to wrap around my shoulders. I can hear Logan bringing out his dagger, and muttering to himself. Seconds later, the hold around my shoulders tightens, and I hear Alexei cry out.

 

“ _ Faster _ -”

 

“I’m going as fast as I can! Okay, that’s almost one side out-”

 

I pull down Alexei’s face, so they can bite down on the strap of my armor. I feel them bite that, and nearly my skin. I wince as they dig in, their teeth definitely leaving marks, and I hear the sound of bending and creaking metal. Moments later, I see Logan tapping me, and I pull away only enough so he can fold the chest plate off and away from their waist.

 

“It’s off,” he says, and he and Trahearne start stripping off their pauldrons. Alexei hasn’t let me go. They’re breathing hard, and nuzzling me through the pain. I rub their back gently. They’ll have to pull back in order to get all the armor off, so the medic can see the wound better, but it’s alright for the moment. I reach up and run my fingers through their hair while I’m thinking. It seems to calm them through the pain.

 

“We can fold this up and off now,” Trahearne says. I pull back and let the two of them pull their chest armor off, leaving them in their torn and bloody shirt. I see Rytlock rush back into the Caer with a norn medic in tow.

 

Rytlock sighs as he looks at the armor strewn on the ground. “And  _ this _ ,” he growls, “Is why you want charr-made armor. Never would’ve happened in Ascalon.”

 

“We had some of the best forgers make that set of armor,” Trahearne says. “A charr was in with the team. These Wraiths are something else - especially if they’re now targeting Alexei, themselves.”

 

“Alexei’s the name, then?” Logan asks. Alexei nods, teeth grit, as the medic looks over their side. He nods right back. “Then hello. I’m your new teacher - so we can start making use of your ability to shield. You’ll be a guardian before this war is over.”

 

***

Alexei’s given nearly twenty-eight stitches by the time all is said and done, and a shot for infection that they protest up until the needle’s put in their arm. I stay by them the whole time. Our meeting’s put on hold as we tend to them. They’re advised to see a cleric once a day for the next seven days as they heal. Until then, I tell them, it was off the battlefield and into bed.

 

“I need to be out there!” They argue. I shake my head.

 

“The war won’t be won in the next seven days, Alex. And this way, Logan can begin to show you how to use your skills as a guardian,” I stop any more protests with a quick kiss to their nose. “I’ll take care of you until you get better. Like you took care of me.”

 

“Oh, come on...not in front of everybody,” they mumble with a whimper. Indeed, Rytlock’s watching with a chuckle, and Trahearne’s trying to hide his smile behind his hand. I kiss their cheek, which is turning a rosy red. As nervous as they are, it’s awfully cute to see them blush.

 

We make it back to our rooms shortly after, and I cook them up a small meal as they lie in bed. I feed it to them slowly, sharing a plate with them as I lean against their good side. They’re hungry, alright. I wonder if they eat much when they’re on the battlefield. They’re almost ravenous.

 

“How are you feeling?” I ask minutes later as I put the dish in the sink and return to the bed. They give a discontented grumble about their side. I curl up against them as gently as I can, and they answer that with a softer hum.

 

“In some ways, I’m glad Zhaitan knows I’m a threat. But it doesn’t help the pain. It’s uncomfortable - like the scar over my knee.”

 

I remember. For as little as I had noticed when we first reunited, it was hard to miss the new marks on their body. A wrangled-looking mark over their knee that didn’t seem to heal right, and a thin line of a scar around their right shoulder. Even their back had a strange, branching scar that offset some of the lines of their tattoos. The one on their leg, at least, seems to bother them months after the attack on Lion’s Arch.

 

“We’ll keep you limber, moving. So the scar’s not inflexible - that’ll be the trouble with your knee. I have a similar scar on my waist that gets tight when it’s especially cold.”

 

“Really? How come I haven’t seen it before?”

 

“You probably have - it’s just an especially light scar,” I say. I reach down and pull my shirt over my head; I help Alexei roll onto their uninjured side, towards me, and guide their hand to the tough, raised scar at my side, aligned just above my belly button.

 

They run their fingers over it curiously, and carefully. Their hand is so warm. I settle underneath them and let their hand wander from one end of the scar to the other. It’s a small scar, but it’s still sensitive. I shudder when they trail nails over it.

 

“How did you get it?” They ask.

 

I smile. “A gladiatorial fight. The same one that made Destiny’s Edge. Caithe’s blade was the culprit for that one. Only reason it didn’t heal was because of infection.”

 

“And this one?” They tease over my belly button jokingly. I snort.

 

“Birth. Life’s first scar.”

 

“You’ve got a cute belly button. And a cute tummy. Sometimes I think about pillowing my head on it and drifting off to sleep.”

 

This time, I really do laugh. “Really? It’s one of the things I dislike about my body.”

 

“Your body is so strong, and healthy. It’s an amazing body,” they let their hand roam down over my hips, and gently grab at them. I squeak. They drag their fingertips back, and over the waistband of my greaves. “Of course,” they say, “There  _ is _ one part of your body that I don’t get to feel enough…”

 

I shake my head, but carefully shift so I can shimmy my greaves off my hips. With that, they trail their fingers down and over my mons. Usually I’m so good about shaving, but I’d become lax with all the work with the Pact. There’s a soft fuzz there, hiding away everything. They comb through it, carefully, teasing more than anything, until their fingers slip down to gently touch my clit. I sigh against their shoulder. They sink their fingers down and gently make small circles. My eyes close. I rest my hands on their shoulders.

 

“Is that good?” they ask me in a husky voice. I nod, and give a soft moan.

 

“It’s been . . . needed . . .”

 

“Good,” they breathe. Their hand is gentle, consistent, right over the bud of me. I sigh against them as we cuddle, and their lips come to my cheek. It’s quiet in the room as we curl together and feel.

 

A part of me thinks I should tell them to stop, that sex was the last thing we should be thinking about. But it’s been so long, and they’re going so gently. A constant pressure, careful over where I need it. All of my sounds are sighs, and little moans. They curl closer to me, even tucking their legs around mine. The only downside - they’re still clothed.

 

Slowly, I pull their hand away from me and shift over their body. I grab the hem of their shirt. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” I tell them. They nod.

 

“If you insist,” they say with a grin. I love that grin. I lean down and kiss it off their face, before pulling their shirt off and tossing it across the room. I pull their greaves off and toss them off the bed, too, before sliding mine off my legs. I lie next to them again, hands roving over their body as they go back to touching my clit, still steady, gentle.

 

I give a breathless sigh. My hands find their waist, and gently touch the bandages over their waist. They pull in a sharp breath, but they don’t push me off. I carefully sweep my fingertips over where the wound hides under white, and apply tender pressure to the wound. They give a tense moan. When I look to their face, their brow is drawn tightly, and their mouth’s gaped open.

 

I smile. “You like that?”

 

“It’s . . . mmph,  _ Eir _ . . .”

 

I lean in and kiss them, swallowing their moan. My hand creeps down their waist and over their hip, pulling them closer until we’re nearly crushed together. Meanwhile, their hand smooths over my clit again, and slowly works its way down between my legs. A finger slides against my puffy slit, bringing up wetness that I can feel even between the inside of my thighs. I giggle.

 

“I’m so wet for you, Alex.”

 

“You  _ are _ ,” They marvel, voice soft. Their eyes drop down my body, and I let out an open sigh while their fingers slowly slide into my body. I lift my leg and tuck it around their hip; their fingers gently curl, lazy. My eyes slide shut. The feeling . . . it’s so divine. So needed.

 

“Do you like this, Eir? You like it when I’m touching you?”

 

“Yes,” I breathe, and sigh. “You’re always so careful with me, Alexei. Like you’re scared to break me.”

 

“I am, a little,” they admit. I wrap my arms around their back and push my hips on their hand, forcing their fingers inside me a little deeper.

 

“Oh,” I laugh. “But it’s so  _ nice _ to be broken sometimes.”

 

They don’t answer that. Their fingers still, just for a moment, that I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. But then they continue like they’d never stopped, gentle strokes, careful ones. I give a heavier sigh. My leg tightens at their hip. I find myself pressing my lips shut to try and contain my moans. When I open them for breath, I let out a louder noise, one of desperation as I try to pull myself closer.

 

“ _ Alexei _ . . .”

 

“I have you,” they whisper to me, before kissing my temple. I shudder, and hold onto them tighter. I’m so close. I can feel it, just on the precipice, and I want them to take me over . . .

 

Suddenly, they’re rolling on top of me, and bracing themselves. My eyes go wide; they shove their fingers into me, roughly thrusting into my body, and suddenly it goes  _ taut _ . I gasp, back arching off the bed while my head’s thrown back.

 

“ _ Alex . . . ! Ale . . . ahh . . .! _ ”

 

Whispy, distressed noises spill from my throat as I tighten down on their fingers, and my body tries to collide with their own. My hands fall to the bed and cling at the sheets. My feet kick against the covers. I go fully tight, one last time, before I melt against the bed with a long, heavy sigh. I can feel them pillowing their body on top of mine, and curling in. For a long moment, we’re tired, and silent. The only interruption is their light whimpering as they carefully bend down and pull the furs over us.

 

We’re quiet.

 

. . . but slowly, quietly, I hear them speak.

 

“Seth was . . . a monster.”

 

_ Seth _ . I remember that name. My eyes open, just barely. “He was . . . your previous partner. The one who abused you.”

 

“Yes. He . . . tried to convince me to do things for him that I regret. Like cleaning his house, or going hunting with him too late, too far from civilization, with too many risks. And whenever I made a mistake, or otherwise made him mad . . .” they shake. “He’d hurt me. Black eyes, gut punches, broken toes. He broke my fingers once while we were out on an hunting expedition, so I couldn’t use my weapons. So he was the one who had total control.”

 

My heart pounds loudly in my ears. I look up at them, and reach up to brush the hair from their face. “Alex,” I ask softly. “Did he ever . . .?”

 

Their eyes drop. They don’t answer for a long, long moment.

 

“. . . I . . .”

 

Their eyes close. They’re so tense, now. Carefully, I roll them back onto the bed, and off of me. I wrap the furs more firmly around their body; I curl up next to them, and wrap my arms around their shoulders.

 

“. . . you can tell me anything, love. I won’t judge you. Ever.”

 

“. . . yes. At first, it was just rough sex, for fun, but . . . then he started using it as an excuse to hurt me. Like when I did something he didn’t like. He said it was fine, because ‘you liked it the first time we did it’. And I did - when it was something I wanted. But . . .”

 

They lower their face. Tears are gathering on their lashes.

 

“. . . it wasn’t until after he and Inari left that I realized. Realized that he was . . . abusive, and a rapist. Eventually, I went to Snow Leopard’s havroun, and asked for advice. They helped to cleanse my body, so I felt somewhat normal in my own skin. And they told me that if I ever needed anything . . . protection, advice, anything . . . that they would be there to offer it. It helped, a lot, but . . .”

 

“But it’s still difficult.”

 

“There are nights where I think about . . . about playing with you like that. Not without consent,  _ ever _ , but . . . letting you hurt me, in a good way, and doing to you what I think you might like. But sometimes . . . sometimes I remember what Seth did to me, and I completely forget about it. I get too scared.”

 

They’re crying, softly. Not sobbing, but it’s clear through the strain of their voice how hard they’re trying to hold back. I reach up with my hand and gently clear their tears away, and gently shush them. They go quiet, sniffling. I tilt my head up and kiss the corner of their eye.

 

“You said he was dead now, too.”

 

“Y-Yeah. Cleaved his head open a long time ago.”

 

“. . . I’m so, so sorry he was so horrible to you. That any of it happened to you at all,” I reach down and take their hand. “But thank you, for telling me. For being honest. After Zhaitan . . . after all of this . . . I want to help you heal, and learn how to love yourself better. I’m adding that to our promises, alright? That I will cherish you, and teach you how to cherish yourself, too.”

 

They sob. Their arms come up and hold me around my shoulders, as their face buries into my skin, and they curl into me.

 

“I love you . . . Eir . . .”

 

I smile, and wrap myself around them.

 

“I love you too, Alexei.”

 

We lie like that, tangled in each others’ embrace, until we fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Three long months. For three months, we work at our hardest, readying for the invasion of Arah. I’m bent over maps and strategies with Trahearne twenty-four seven. Alexei’s out in the field for longer and longer stints, each time returning with good news, their expression lighting into a smile from their worn looks just as we see one another. Caithe, Logan, and Rytlock work their hardest to train our recruits as quickly as they’re able. Faster and faster, we seem to be hurtling towards the inevitable. Even the four of us from Destiny’s Edge begin to sit down and plan out our part in fighting Zhaitan.

 

Trahearne and Alexei disappear into Orr for the cleansing, a cleansing that takes weeks. When they return, both of them are weary, but smiling. Trahearne seems barely able to walk.

 

“We did it,” Alexei whispers to me in bed that night, holding me close. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The magic and force that Trahearne had at his control . . . and I stayed with him, as long as I could. Protecting him. Zhaitan sent a fair line of his forces to stop us, but even he couldn’t prevent our success.”

 

“How did you find the Source?” I ask, mystified. They smile.

 

“We found the ghosts of Romke and his crew, and helped them retrieve their map. They’re resting now, peacefully . . . and I learned something inspiring. I’m Romke’s descendent. He told me as much. Our eyes - they were the same.” Their hand finds mine, and holds on tight. “I’m descended from one of the greatest heroes of our race. And I’m so proud that I get to continue his legacy where he left off.”

 

With Orr beginning to be cleansed, there’s nothing left for us to do but wrap up loose ends. I’d hoped, perhaps futilely, that Zojja would’ve joined us by now, but there’s no helping it anymore. Rytlock and Logan had said they’d talked to her, but it’s clear, in my mind, that there’s nothing more we can do. We write our plans without her in them.

 

We’re hurtling closer and closer to the penultimate. And then it’s upon us.

 

***

 

“The airship is barely ready,” I tell the group. “We haven’t even tested it yet; I’m not confident about bringing it into battle.”

 

“I’m trying to get the crew to put it through its tests as quickly as possible,” Alexei tells me, strong in their new armor (which they’d had made identical to their last set), “But even with a team working from dawn to dusk, it’s hard to say if it’ll be ready or not. There are little things going wrong, and that laser is massive enough in scale that looking after it is nearly impossible. We can’t even do a test fire.”

 

“I can go push them a little harder,” Rytlock suggests next to me as we all lean over the Caer’s work table with the blueprints for the ship laid out before us. “Should help get the process moving a little faster.”

 

“Or I can inspire them,” Logan suggests across from me. “Nothing like a Hero of Tyria to raise spirits.”

 

“ _ Or _ ,” Caithe says next to him, “We could simply go and check on their progress. I doubt they need much more inspiring than that.”

 

“Any of you could do all that,” Alexei chuckles. “But no; I need you guys to be preparing. You’ll be with me as we invade, and I want us all sharp. That means  _ all _ of us.”

 

“That counts you too, you know,” I tell them. They chuckle.

 

“I have an army to run-”

 

I lean in and kiss their cheek. They immediately go silent, and turn red. Logan laughs, and cuts in. “That’s a good point. You have men who report to you, don’t you? Have them take care of the last details. And you’re a good enough guardian to go into battle now, so I’m not worried about any more lessons.”

 

“Stubborn pup,” Rytlock adds. I laugh as they turn away and fan their face.

 

“‘Stubborn’ is one word for them,” I tell him. “They excel at being impossible.”

 

“I’m not the one who’s flustering with p-public displays of affection,” Alexei says. I chuckle, only for a sinisterly-familiar voice to cut in:

 

“Yes, the public displays of affection  _ are _ a touch underhanded, Eir.”

 

We all whip around. At the entrance of the Caer is  _ Zojja _ , dressed in her battle gear and with Mr. Sparkles standing behind her. Immediately, Alexei’s lunging forward, axes drawn, standing in front of me. I flush, while Zojja and Alexei stare each other down.

 

“. . . you don’t need to defend her from me, Commander,” Zojja sniffles. “I’m not here to antagonize. I was given the impression that my presence was desired.”

 

“It is,” Caithe says as she steps around the table and walks to Alexei’s side, and puts a hand to their arm. “We didn’t think that you’d come, Zojja. After everything . . .”

 

“I . . . didn’t think I would, either,” she admits as Alexei slowly lowers their weapons. “But I gave it a lot of thought, and- well. Snaff would’ve wanted me here. So, I’ve come to help.”

 

I swallow. She . . . she’s really here to help. Destiny’s Edge is really back together.

 

. . . but I can’t leave things as they are.

 

I put a hand on Alexei’s shoulder, before stepping out in front of them. “Zojja,” I say, frowning. “I need you to know something.”

 

She looks up at me, and for the first time in ages, her eyes are clear. “I know, Eir. You blamed yourself for Snaff’s death.”

 

“I- . . . yes,” I lower my gaze to somewhere near her feet. “It’s . . . taken me a long time to understand that it wasn’t anybody’s fault. It was Kralkatorrik’s. But I wanted you to know. If . . . if I could’ve done something, anything, to save Snaff  . . I would’ve. For all of our sakes’.”

 

“I know. I’ve . . . known that for quite some time. I simply didn’t want to admit it,” she says. I look back up to her. She seems almost awkward - never knowing how to really apologize, of course. “But . . . when I thought about it, we really all did try to do our best. Doing what we thought was right. In the end, I suppose I can’t blame anybody but the dragon for how things turned out. But I can certainly blame myself, for my own response to you after the fact. And for that . . . and all the ways I’ve treated you . . . I am deeply, deeply sorry.”

 

I let out the breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding. Alexei’s taking my hand and asking Zojja, “So that means you’ll stop bothering her?”

 

“Well . . .. no. I have one last thing I must ask of her.”

 

The hand goes tense. “And that is?”

 

“. . . you see . . . I was given a particular sculpture. One that was very nicely made, and modeled. Unfortunately, it underwent . . .” she coughs into her fist. “Well. What happened to it doesn’t matter. What does is that it is now . . . absent. And I was hoping, Eir, if you still had that other model . . .”

 

Caithe and I swap looks; right, all along. I look to Zojja and smile, finally relaxed.

 

“Of course, Zojja. You’re welcome to come and pick up the figurine anytime you want.”

 

***

 

Everything’s swirling around us in a haze, a dose of fighting and moving that’s so surreal it’s like it’s in a dream, or a nightmare. So many Risen - more than I’ve ever seen in one place, and yet everybody seems to be taking it in stride but me. Seeing the Risen has always been unfamiliar, when I so rarely see them at home. Caithe fights them like it’s any other day, and Logan and Rytlock fight them like they’re just faceless mobs. Even Zojja fights them like they’re just another nuisance. But it’s hard to get their grizzly faces out of my mind.

 

Alexei looks like a god, fighting as they do. Axes swinging, with arms looking strong underneath their maille. And always in motion. They keep patrolling the outer deck, watching for the Risen to be thrown aboard. I keep going out to help them, along with everybody else. But there’s only so many of us that can fit on that small a deck.

 

But they were right about making sure we all rested. It’s exhausting like this.

 

Garm sits by my side as we rest in the ship, trying to get our energy back. Somebody’s passed us water, and we’re each taking sips of it. Trying to rehydrate on the field. Garm’s content to curl up in a ball next to me, but I feel like I can’t sit down. I feel like I should be moving, be more active in taking care of this threat . . . or else I’m worthless.

 

I need to fight with all my ability, or else have I truly helped?

 

I’m about to get up and make true on that promise when I see Alexei walking in - tall, proud, armor covered in blood (though they seem uninjured, thank goodness). I stop, and they walk to me and kneel down. They give me a strained smile, beneath concern.

 

“Pushing yourself?” they ask.

 

I nod. “Have to.”

 

“Don’t push too hard, Eir. I remember us talking about the Risen. And I don’t want you to get hurt,” they take my bottle from my hand and bring it to my lips, helping me to take a nice, long sip. They pull back and take a similar swig from it, before giving it back to me. I watch them with knowing eyes.

 

“Don’t you go too hard, either.”

 

“I’m doing my best,” they turn and look out the windows. I reach up and cup their face, and they look back with tired eyes.

 

“I mean it. You’re patrolling out there like it’s your ultimate duty.”

 

“It sort of is, right now.”

 

“If you need one of us to spot for you, then ask us. That’s why we’re here. We haven’t reached Zhaitan yet; don’t exhaust yourself.”

 

“I won’t,” they say. They lean in and press their lips to my forehead. “Okay,” they whisper. “I’m gonna go back out.”

 

“Be careful, Alexei.”

 

“I will be.”

 

They get up and walk back out the way they came. I watch them go, and take another tired sip from my bottle.

 

This war is going to be done today. We just have to make sure we aren’t done, too.

 

***

 

The dragon is monstrous.

 

Its ear-shattering scream is so horrific that it nearly bursts my eardrums, and all of us seem to clap down on them as Zhaitan flies into view, his horrific, writhing, pulsating body on display in the sky. As he flies by, I hear the laser start up in a whirr, and all of a sudden it’s firing as Zojja shoots it right across Zhaitan’s tail. She cheers. The monster gives a horrible wail. Suddenly, monstrous Eyes of Zhaitan are appearing on board the giant airship, and I hear Garm howl.

 

“Fight the Eyes!” I hear Alexei shout, and I grab my arrows and do just that. It’s chaos all aboard; we’re all moving across the deck, fighting these monsters lobbing dark energy at us, and at one point Mr. Sparkles claps me across the back and knocks me from my feet to avoid a shot to the head. I push myself up, and then take the hand that’s offered to me - I climb atop him and straddle his shoulders, shooting my arrows from high above, a terror of raining missiles.

 

Nearby, Alexei’s firing the cannons. Zhaitan’s clinging to the side of a giant tower, still screaming, and from his wings fall hoards of Risen that reach our ship and swarm. From my perch, I can see everybody fighting, can watch as Rytlock protects Logan, and Caithe and Zojja move in sync, and Garm leaps at an Eye as it falls . . .

 

The sounds of battle are so strong in my ears that it’s almost impossible to think of anything else.

 

There’s a scream. We all turn as Zhaitan’s grip on the tower loosens-

 

-and the dragon  _ falls _ .

 

Everybody  _ screams _ . Screaming, cheering, noise so loud it hurts. The Risen are falling and not getting back up - the docks are clearing. I slide off of Mr. Sparkles’ shoulders. Is this real? Have we done it?

 

. . . yes, we have.

 

Zhaitan’s minions are dropping from the sky, as dead as they were before they were Risen. The Risen on board are falling dead without even being touched. And manning the cannon that’d fired the last shot, looking stunned and windswept, hair blown all about their shoulders . . .

 

_ Alex _ .

 

They turn when I call their name. They look baffled - absolutely baffled. I reach forward and pull them into my arms.

 

“You did it,” I tell them above the roaring. “Zhaitan is no more.”

 

We stand like that as everybody cheers for their Commander.

 

***

 

The revelry is insanity.

 

Confetti is falling from the sky above Fort Trinity, magicked by Priory and asura, coating the ground in color. Everybody’s cheering and shouting, everybody crowding in as Destiny’s Edge and the Pact Commander walk into the fort, all huddled, looking around. We’re all blown away - I even hear Logan say something about not even the way of Divinity’s Reach comparing.

 

It’s all so much. So much going on that it’s crazy, and then there’s Alexei in the middle of it, looking around, still seeming in shock. I take their hand. They look to me, and I give them a supportive smile. They smile back, but clearly overwhelmed. I remind myself to look for a quiet spot where we can spend some time later.

 

Nearby, on the command deck, Trahearne is standing with his other advisors and leaders from the orders. We - Alexei, and Destiny’s Edge - all move up the stairs and join him, watching as he grabs a microphone and calls for attention.

 

“Victory at last!” he calls, and the crowd goes wild. He speaks over the cacophony, his voice ecstatic. “With Zhaitan defeated, the corruption it wrought can be undone. The dragon’s undead minions that still infest Tyria will now gradually be exterminated. One day soon, that plague will be but a memory. Zhaitan’s defeat has saved many lives - more importantly, it has restored hope to a desperate world. The dragons are not stars in the sky. They can be counted. They can be  _ fought _ . One day, we will kill the last of them. Only then will Tyria be safe.”

 

Everybody cheers. Trahearne punches his fist into the sky.

 

“This is a new beginning for Orr, and for Tyria - a clear sky after a long storm! This is a dawn that Tyria shall never forget! This day is  _ ours _ !”

 

Everybody cheers for Trahearne, shouting, pushing and pulling at one another as the crowd moves in a wave. Trahearne turns and gestures to Alex. They look surprised, and a touch embarrassed to be singled out. I smile and nudge them forward. Slowly, they step forward and take the microphone from him, and stand to address the Pact.

 

“For many of us,” they say, “The day of Zhaitan’s defeat seemed like a distant dream. The wishes of madmen and rebels, seeking a time where our loved ones would be safe from the dragon. So many of us have lost friends, family, more - some nearly our lives. And yet here we stand at the end of it, with Zhaitan’s burial in the heart of Orr! We have fought, and found a distant horizon of freedom!”

 

They thump at their chest, and continue.

 

“But we do not end here! For there are still dragons to be fought, and relief to be had. For some day, we will see a peaceful Tyria, one without pain and assault from such heinous enemies! We will continue to stand and fight - for our families, for our friends, for the ones that we love! Tyria stands together! And the dragons will fall!”

 

The cheers go up again, even louder this time. Alexei steps forward and tosses their hands towards the horizon.

 

“For a free Tyria! For a free  _ world _ !”

 

And Fort Trinity  _ sings _ .

 

***

 

Even as a norn, shouldering my way through the crowd feels like an impossible task. There are so many people underfoot and overfoot, humans and charr and asura and sylvari and norn. So many, in fact, it’s a wonder I can hold onto the glasses of champagne that my hands are laden with. But so many years as a ranger has allowed me litheness and balance. I make my way through the crowd towards the Caer, where I expect Alexei to be.

 

And I’m not wrong. Normally quiet, the Caer is bustling with important people, all celebrating with one another. And Alexei’s at the center of it; they’re still in their armor, as am I. I can see them talking with Trahearne, and with hands free. That’s a relief. I manage to push through the throngs of people and to Alexei’s side. They pause whatever they were saying, and look to me with a smile.

 

“Love,” they greet. I kiss their cheek, and hand them a glass of champagne.

 

“I was hoping I could pull you away for a little while,” I say to them, and to Trahearne. “Would you allow me the honor, Marshal?”

 

“Of course. Go celebrate, you two. Fort Trinity will still be here by tomorrow,” he nods to us, and then to Alexei. “Go with my blessing, Alexei. I wish you luck and fortitude.”

 

I feel Alexei reach for and take my free hand. “I hope you’ve found someplace quiet,” They say. I chuckle.

 

“Of course I have. Just follow me.”

 

It’s even harder to cut through the crowds with Alexei following me, but we make do. We walk through until we make it to the north entrance, where it’s a little bit quieter; then, we walk until we reach the lumber yard. Of the largest buildings there, there’s a small tower, filled with wood. Stairs circle around to the top floor, and then boxes are stacked to reach the roof. I gesture to it, and smile.

 

“Nobody should bother us there,” I say. They laugh.

 

“Smart. I like your style.”

 

We climb the stairs and muster ourselves up onto the roof. It doesn’t take long before we’re seated facing the ocean miles away from us, hip to hip and hand to hand. I take a careful sip of my champagne. It’s the fancy stuff, probably human made. Meanwhile, Alexei takes a swig of theirs, and hiccups.

 

“I’ve had too much of this stuff,” They giggle. I elbow them, and lean my head on their shoulder.

 

“Never too much at an event like this,” I tell them.

 

“I don’t know. I think I prefer ale. Ale’s for when a party’s in full swing. Champagne feels so . . . formal.”

 

“It’s a formal thing we did, defeating Zhaitan.”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“So,” I sit up and turn to them with smile. “Who’s next? Primordus, Kralkatorrik . . . Jormag?”

 

They laugh. “We haven’t decided yet. I think Trahearne’s partial to Kralkatorrik, given he’s the other dragon that’s awake. All the others seem to be content to snooze.”

 

“Good. Hopefully they ‘snooze’ for a good long while.”

 

“Agreed,” They tuck themselves closer to me. “Personally, I feel like I’m ready to fight all of them at once. I can hardly believe it, still.”

 

“It still feels like a fantasy.”

 

“Yeah,” I hear them put down their glass, and reach for me. I put my glass down, too, so we can hold hands. We’re quiet for long moments, leaning against each other, quiet.

 

I break the silence cautiously. I hate to . . . but I need to know. “So,” I ask. “What’s next for the great Alexei Wright?”

 

“For me? I was just talking to Trahearne about it, actually . . . but I mean to ask you, too.”

 

“More Pact duties?”

 

“Actually . . . there’s something that I’ve been thinking about since Claw Island.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“Okay, just . . . let me explain,” they sit up, and turn to face me better. They look so serious, despite the party going on, and their slight inebriation. “Something occurred to me, just after Claw Island. There’s something that I’ve been missing, since all of my training finished. You’ve taught me so much, and I feel like it’s made me a good fighter, but . . . there’s something I can’t put my finger on.”

 

I lift a brow. “You think you aren’t good enough? Alexei, you just led a whole army into victory.”

 

“Not . . . that, per se. But something more . . . personal. I’m a good fighter, but it’s just that: good. I’m not a Hero of Tyria, like you. I don’t have a distinct fight to me, or a specific . . . direction. Everything I’ve done, it’s been because I’ve been sorta . . . dragged along.”

 

They look so serious. I draw my brow, and reach out to touch their cheek. “What are you thinking of, my warrior? Are you intent on leaving us?”

 

“Actually,” They chuckle nervously, and turn their cheek into my touch. “That’s what I was going to ask. I was thinking of traveling north of home, just for a little while. Exploring, searching. Fighting. Trying to figure out what defines me as a fighter, and as a hero. I have so many titles . . . I’m far from the Slayer, now. But for a little while, I want to go and figure out who Alexei, the hero, is. Somebody who isn’t the Slayer, or the Hero of Lion’s Arch, or Lightbringer, or Pact Commander.”

 

“That’s interesting,” I say, looking over them. They seem serious. I think, and ask, “What about your position in the Pact?”

 

“That’s what Trahearne and I were talking about. We have a selection for interim commander - but she’d just have to agree. I won’t give any names until we know for sure, but I trust her, and I think she’d be a fair leader while I’m gone - and even if I was to decide not to continue as Commander, when I come back.”

 

“And where would you go? What parts of Tyria do you want to explore?”

 

“I’ve known the Shiverpeaks all my life - but I’ve never journeyed into the Far Shiverpeaks. I’d like to visit Frostgorge Sound, and Fireheart Rise. Somewhere in there. Fight some Sons, meet the Kodan. Make an impact.”

 

My hand slides up to their hair, and brushes it back from their face. I smile. “You don’t need to try hard to do that, Slayer.”

 

“I do for one thing.”

 

“The fang?”

 

“Yeah,” They nod. “I guess that’s sort of what it’s all leading up to. When I’m done, I want to take a crack at that fang. I want to know, for sure, if I’m the one that’s meant to defeat Jormag - and if so, then I’ll take up the challenge. If not? Then I’ll know that there’s another direction for me.”

 

I hum. I reach out, and pull at their shoulders, so they’re lying down with their head in my lap. “Well,” I tell them, as I reach down and start playing with their hair, “You’ll hear no complaint from me. I think it’s a wonderful idea. You’ll just have to promise not to be too long, or else I’ll begin to miss you.”

 

“That’ll be the hard part, is not running back to your arms,” they say, looking up at me with those glossy, warm eyes. “You’ll have to promise that you’ll wait for me, Eir. Otherwise I’ll worry and worry and run right back home.”

 

I shake my head. “I haven’t met anybody else who’d take me away from you. Ever.”

 

“Then why not make it official?” They ask. I raise a brow, confused. Then, they lean up, and whisper into my ear.

 

My eyes go wide. I can feel my blush down my face, and into my neck.

 

“We don’t need to, if you don’t want to,” They say as they lie back down, smiling mischievously. “It could be small, in the Lodge. Just you and I - or if you want to invite Destiny’s Edge, I’m sure I have a few friends I could invite.”

 

I stare down at them, still flabbergasted . . . and then I grab them and roll them over, throwing myself overtop them and kissing them furiously. They yelp as I layer kisses all across their face, and finally brace myself above them with a grin.

 

“I don’t want anything big. Just a few witnesses and ourselves. Will you allow me that?”

 

They smile. “Who are you thinking of?”

 

“Caithe. Maybe Rytlock. But we’d need two, at the least.”

 

“I’ll call my friend Tybalt. Though knowing him, he’ll make a big fuss about it. Expect lots of apple jokes, okay?”

 

“Then should we serve cider afterwards?”

 

They laugh. “I do owe him, after all.”

 

We smile at each other, and I finally curl down and rest myself against their body. “Then,” I say with a laugh, “It’s settled. Just have to get all the paperwork in order and we could have it done within the month.”

 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” they say, smiling down at me. “Just don’t blame me if I want to go a little balls-to-the-walls. Gotta make it special, for the both of us.”

 

“Oh, I never doubted that. A Hero of Tyria, and the Pact Commander - people will never stop talking about it.”

 

“Good. Because I never want to stop talking about you.”

 

I look up at them, and smile. They pull me up and kiss them, and as I slowly fold them out of their armor, the fireworks from Fort Trinity explode overhead. We’re bathed in the lights of victory, and we are well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I can't believe we've gotten this far, guys! Thank you for following along!
> 
> Don't worry, Eir and Alexei's story is not over yet - it continues in the new story, "Commander". You can find the link for that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977298/chapters/42463457
> 
> Also, why did I make it a separate thing? Because "Commander" is going to be wholly canon non-compliant, unlike "Slain", which at least pays homage to the main story. I'm changing things up a little bit partially because I haven't played HoT or PoF, and . . . well, things would go very badly if we followed the main story. Maybe I'll write about that some other time.
> 
> In the meantime! Feel free to check out the new fic! And I hope you've enjoyed the story!


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